Lost and Found
by TheWeasleyBoys
Summary: "Maybe I lost my rasoodock a long time ago...or else maybe I'm about to lose it." Chp. 16 Up
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Having a Dr. Frankenstein moment, are we, Alex fans…? I certainly hope so. ;) It would make things a lot less lonely around here. ^.^ Consider this a welcome for KissingFairies and LetItBeXO, as well as anyone else who wants to write our droogs perfectly in character, and put them into believable romantic situations where true love is something to struggle with, not just handed to them on a silver platter.

Anywho…my buddy PandaLove01 asked me a few questions about some of the characters in this series a moment ago, so mmmaybe I should offer up some explanations. John and Matthew came entirely from the recesses of my imagination, while Greg and Georgina (however briefly) were originally found in the twenty-first chapter of the novel that shares the title of the movie for which I have submitted this story. It's a mouthful, but there you are.

And just in case anyone's wondering why I haven't raised a finger to mention Mr. Narrator…this takes place six months after Georgie's original demise, ergo your Narrator is still in the Staja, so there you are. 'Nuff said, and on with my seventh Pete story, taking place after Don't, Sweet Moloko, Voices of Korova, Surprise Visit, Nachinat, and Mystery Malchick (in that order). Happy reading,

-Weasley-

**Lost and Found**

Time doesn't stop for you when you're miserable. All it does is slow down for a while, only to speed up again when something happens to make you snap out of that misery. That was how I'd woken up from my own sadness after watching one friend die and the other turn against me; finding my way into a good Doctor's house; and so let him drive me to the nearest hospital the very next morning. I had gone along with four strangers without anything but a mind empty of thought, at least until a moment ago. Now, as I waited to see my Em, all I could think of was this: _Why now_?

Why did I have to wander around by myself for six months before finding someone to help me? Why had I gone with three other strangers all those years ago, and not asked any questions of those malchicks in white? Why had I trusted _them_ so blindly? Why was I _still_ so blind with these four new people? What did they want from me? Why was that Gigi-girl so interested in following me around? Why couldn't she just _leave me alone_?

These questions buzzed so loud in my head that I almost didn't hear the three knocks on my hospital room door.

_Em._

If I didn't have a home already, and if I didn't remember that I had to get back there, I might have stayed with those four strangers instead. I knew better than to let myself get tied up with them, though, and I missed my Em besides. I missed having her at home on the weekends, when her usual round of double shifts would stop for two days out of each new week, and what we did with that time was entirely up to us. I also missed having someone around that I could trust entirely, and not fear them backstabbing me when I least expected it. For those reasons, I was relieved to find out from the nurse that she'd finally arrived. I'd been struck dumb with my own pain the last time I'd seen her, and so now I wanted to say a whole lot more.

This time, maybe, I could answer her questions better if she still had some to ask of me. This time, I'd talk to her in our special language, and hope for the best.

"Thank you. Please bring her in."

The first thing Em did was come straight to my bed and pull me into a hug. Thank God for _that_! I was afraid she hated me for running off the way I had done, yet here she was, proving me wrong. That was just the start of our visit, however, for the next thing she did was release me and point at my bruises, a worried look upon her face.

I couldn't be creative and say I ran into a door or fell down a flight of stairs. I had too many sore spots on my face for that, and a lot on my arms and legs besides. There was also no way for me to fake being sick, because I already had a cold coming, and a long fight with malnourishment ahead of me. All I could do now was tell the truth, no matter how bad it sounded.

_I was in a fight,_ I signed, speaking with my hands for the first time in half a year. As much as I'd surprised myself by breaking my own silence, I must have surprised her even more. Instantly, I saw her start to sniffle and rub my fingers, almost as though she could barely believe it. Maybe I couldn't, either, so I repeated myself just to prove I wasn't dreaming.

_I was in a fight. There were these two other boys, and they wanted to fight me, and I was too tired to run away, so I just gave them what they wanted. I felt like fighting, too, so…so I did. Maybe I got too tired of wandering around all by myself, I don't—_

I felt Em squeeze my hands then; a sign for me to stop signing for a moment. It was her turn to speak, and speak she did.

_How do you feel?_ She signed, looking me straight in the eye.

_What do you mean, Em?_ I signed back.

_I mean that I've never bothered to ask you how you're doing._

A sad look crossed her face, then:

_I've spent fourteen years in that factory making furniture, and I don't even know what's going on in my own home._ Why, _Petey? Why did I let you slip away from me?_

_You think this is your fault?_ I scoffed, rolling my eyes for her benefit. _You didn't tell me to go looking for trouble, now, did you, Em? You definitely didn't make me go sniffing around the streets at night, or wonder if the other boys at school really did what they said they did when their parents weren't looking. That was all my fault, not yours._

She didn't ask any questions about what I meant, but then again, maybe she didn't have to. The pained look on her face now was enough to tell me she might have understood exactly what I had been up to. You didn't get bruises like mine from normal, harmless nights out with friends, and neither could you earn them on dates with some girl, unless she turned out to be a kickboxer with an attitude. I was more than happy to let her do the mental math for herself, of course, because I'd finally started to realize something important. It was an odd thought that had jumped into my head, and I hadn't wanted to believe it at first, but today was teaching me to think otherwise.

What if causing trouble at night only brought someone like me pain, and left everyone else either imprisoned, jaded, or dead?

I had begun to understand this in the morning at Greg's house, and now that Em was here, I could understand it even more. I'd had enough of making her fear for my life every night, never mind forcing her to wonder if I'd be home in the morning. How could I, when she was practically the only family I had left? Would it be right for me to go on putting her through that agony, or else find something less violent and more comforting for us both? Did such a life exist out there for someone like me, and how would I go about finding it?

Then again…was I wishing for too much by thinking these thoughts at all? What if there was no such thing as a life less violent, at least for one who had regularly done just the opposite and thought it would help him fit in? I thought this over for a moment before Em tapped my hands with a finger, signaling that it was her turn to speak again.

_How long do you have to stay here_? She asked me, putting one hand over my own after she finished to show her concern.

_Two weeks,_ I signed back, remembering all that had happened earlier. _I'm just not as healthy as I used to be. They say I have to spend two weeks here to get over a cold, and then get my weight up since I haven't been eating as much as I need to. I'm too weak to do anything else right now._

_Is there something from home I should bring to you?_

_I'm not sure if they'd let me have anything from home, actually. They could get nervous that it might have some deadly germs all over it, or something. We might want to be careful for everyone else's sake, who knows how healthy _they_ are?_

More silence came between us, and even though I felt her rubbing my hands again, there was still too much that I hadn't said to her yet. For once, I hated my own shyness, and how it made me act towards my own mother. It was like someone took an invisible needle and thread and sewed my mouth closed so that I wouldn't bother talking again, at least when I felt that I absolutely had to.

I wished I knew a way to make myself not feel so afraid sometimes. Too bad there was no such thing as magic, otherwise I would have drank some cure-all potion or asked some Merlin look-alike to fix me up proper. Maybe then, I wouldn't feel like I had this unseen line of stitches keeping me from talking at all. Em must have thought about this, too, because her next question challenged me to tell her everything that I hadn't bothered to say before:

_Petey…what happened to you?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Wow, two comments already, and on the first chapter alone…? Methinks the tide is turning, my friends…the tide just may be turning! I wonder if I might suggest 'Clockwork Zheena' to you, so that somebody like Dan Sickles could get a steadier stream of comments as I am? I hope so, you might enjoy it as a potentially good read! ;)

In the meantime, before I get too distracted… 

**2**

_Georgie's dead._

There we are. Maybe I just came up with my own answer by spitting these words out to my Em.

_Georgie's dead._

All I have to do is sign these words, and it's like something in my brain finally comes unglued. That's when some things that I thought had stayed buried start rushing back up like a flood.

We'd almost ran off with some rich old man's watch collection when he showed up armed, and let us know that he'd called for the police the moment we'd broken into his house. That had been ten minutes ago, which meant the police themselves showed up ten seconds later. I'd made it out through the window and after Dim in time, but I couldn't hear Georgie coming along behind me.

Instinctively I had turned my head just to make sure, only to see him fall down one moment and…and then watch that old man raise and lower his crowbar like an executioner swinging his axe, and _then_ see a spray of Georgie's blood spill onto the white walls where Georgie himself had stood a short time before. That sight alone had been enough to pull me back to that house, to make me want to go back and save him from whatever that old man was doing…but something stronger and much more painful had yanked me in the opposite direction, forcing me to do it his way as always, and ignore my own wants to my greater depression and agony.

It had always been so easy for someone else to shove their way into my life, convince me to put my own thoughts, opinions, and desires aside, and just keep my mouth shut and go along with whatever they wanted me to do for them. I'd always tried to live up to what I thought they expected of me. I'd _always_ tried to give them what I thought they wanted from me, but it wasn't enough for them. It was never, _ever_ enough.

That was the kind of life that had dragged me into misery and pain; then three months of silence in the sanitarium; three more of silence in my own home and on the streets together; and finally here to the hospital. I felt it dragging me back into silence as surely as I had been dragged away from saving Georgie, and I felt the old panic about to erupt inside of me as it had earlier that morning.

This time, though, I was lucky to no longer be by myself. This time, I had Em there to pull me back, and soon I could safely realize that her hold on me was so much stronger than all the others. Where everyone else had died, disappeared, or walked out on me, she was one of the few people who had dared to stay behind. That was the one thing I must have needed, because there she was to give it to me without question or second thoughts. And so, even though I felt myself tearing up and crying again, I did it fully aware of my surroundings this time; not caught in my own little silent world where no one else bothered to see me or talk to me.

I could feel other, sweeter things alongside my own pain now—the touch of Em's hands against my back, stroking my hair, patting my shoulders to let me know everything was going to be all right. The usual smells of cold air and dirty streets had vanished, and in their places I smelled lilacs and hospital cleaner. When once I might have felt myself seize up and start breathing too fast, now I could just breathe easy, and not worry about throwing up or passing out again.

Not only was I someplace much cleaner, the people here seemed a lot more welcoming to me so far. I felt warm all over, too—not just because of the hot water they'd washed me with, but also because I'd been covered up with warmer clothes and thicker blankets. My eyes were a bit clearer as well, for I could see light filtering in through the windows where I'd once seen bright, blurry spots. Could I rest easy here as I now breathed, and enjoy its unexpected comfort as long as I could? This place didn't look like home, but it felt a tiny bit like it, and I hoped that might be enough to keep me relaxed.

I liked knowing that feeling again. It promised me that I might not have to wander around by myself anymore; that I might get to go home later on and be with Em like I'd used to do. Maybe it was just as well that I did, because the streets were just too damn quiet these days.

Maybe it was also a good idea that I stopped wandering altogether, and started paying attention to more important things…like helping Em keep our small flat clean, for example. You didn't have to hurt any other boys or old men to do that, and neither could you risk your own life besides falling down a few slippery stairs.

On the other hand…there was always that chance I could just get distracted again; led astray much too easily by the next strong-willed malchick with a rotten agenda or some hidden score to settle. Someone like that could worm his way into my life with a few well-picked words, and then with one more clever, convenient word at a time, talk me into doing whatever he wanted me to do to someone less strong-willed, whenever he wanted such things to happen, and all for his personal pleasure rather than the good of everyone else.

To make sure this sort of thing did not happen to me all over again, I would have to be careful. I would have to take a good look at some new person's behavior and background before I decided to go hang out with them. Once I started, I would have to keep an eye out for words like 'They'll be sorry', 'He'll wish he hadn't done that', or 'She's about to get a big surprise'; especially if those words were spoken with total seriousness. And, most of all, I would have to remember that anyone wanting to solve a problem with a sharp object couldn't be doing so out of the goodness of their hearts. Some unexpected new way had just appeared to me, and I would need to follow such a way correctly if I wanted to enjoy it to the fullest.

In the meantime, there was Em, and Em prodded at my hand before asking if I'd had anything to eat this morning.

_Not a crumb,_ I told her, letting out a small sigh. _It's been kind of a weird morning, I mean. I've talked to so many people, I had no time to munch on anything._

_Do you feel like you could, though? Do you want to have breakfast?_

I could only shrug and fiddle with the edge of my blanket, because at that time, I could only feel like sleeping for a week, if not longer. How would I be able to feed myself if I had trouble lifting my hands? How could I stop Em from worrying, if I felt too exhausted to pick up a spoon to feed myself? Would she have to do it instead, pushing the fork into my mouth like I was a year old again, and unable to do much else besides let it dribble down my face?

I didn't want to find out the answer to that, but a nurse came anyway, knocking on my door to let us know she'd brought a tray of food in for me. I took one look at the eggs and toast she'd given me, and soon felt my stomach turn in protest. Some part of my already-exhausted brain told me that trying to eat those eggs would be like trying to swallow glue, and that biting into that toast would be like biting sandpaper.

_Em, I'm too tired,_ I complained, letting my face wrinkle in disgust. _Can't I get some more sleep first, maybe?_

_First this, then that,_ Em insisted, taking the tray from the nurse and then holding one of the toast slices up to my face.

_I'm not hungry!_

_ Just a LITTLE bite, then…?_

I sighed, held up my hands in defeat, and finally allowed myself to take two bites of the toast, because I wasn't sure how long I could handle Em giving me that puppy-eyed look or begging me just to taste it. It made my gums ache a little, but I did like tasting melted butter again, and the fact that it was still warm didn't hurt me all that much, either.

_There, see? No harm done! The special juice next, if you can._

My tray included a glass of something pink and slightly fizzy, which reminded me almost of some fruity soda save for the fact that it was foggy like juice was, and not clear like the other drink. I leaned my head forward until I was able to reach the straw, and then took three or four weak sips. It tasted faintly of strawberries, which was probably a good thing for me. I might have not been so eager to drink it if it hadn't tasted any good.

_There you go,_ Em signed, giving me a smile so like my own, one that included a small gap between her front teeth. _You keep that up, Petey. You keep that up, and then you'll be well again, and then—_

There was another sudden knocking at my door, and soon afterwards, a pair of dark brown eyes peered curiously inward at us.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**—It was feeling a bit quiet in my other fandoms, so…I decided to do another chapter just now for laughs, but no lashings. Hope it's a good one.

**3**

_Oh, dobby_, I thought to myself, watching that girl stick her head in to spy on us. _You again. What's the matter, couldn't read a book while you waited?_

I didn't like the way she tried smiling at me or Em, even if there was something about us that she somehow wanted a part of. I would have liked it just fine talking to my mother by myself, and not having to face any unwanted interruptions. Unfortunately, things weren't working out so well for me this morning.

"Well, hello there."

And now she wanted to talk to me, or was it Em she was interested in? With one of us unable to hear and the other unwilling to speak, would she end up having a conversation or a monologue?

"Er…is this your mum? How are you two doing today?"

I started to bite my lip and turn my head away on purpose, but Em had other ideas for the both of us. She pinched my left hand and then pointed to the girl, insisting that I answer her and sign at the same time so she could get a kick out of a little eavesdropping.

_There goes my peace and quiet_, I thought, tossing back an edge of the blanket so that my hands would go uncovered for a while.

"We've been better," I answered slowly, talking and signing at the same time. "I'm supposed to stay in this room for two weeks while they feed me up _and_ treat a cold that's coming to me any minute. How are _you_ doing?"

The girl just blushed and muttered something under her breath, which in turn just made me feel a bit more bothered than I'd originally felt.

"I can't hear you when you don't raise your voice, Miss…?"

Another mumble, and this time I had to ask nicely for her to repeat herself, because I wasn't quite sure what it is that I heard her say.

"Georgina Green, if I haven't said it already."

Georgina. Why did her name _have_ to be Georgina…?

"Is that so? I thought I heard you get called Gigi earlier."

"Oh, that's because of my initials. G.G., get it?"

Some part of me wished I hadn't, or better yet, that she got named Jane or Lily or some other name besides that. Why did her parents have to pick _that_ name…?

"All right…Georgina it is. Now, back to business, uh…what was it you said earlier?"

I found myself staring a bit too long at those dark brown eyes, that reddish-brown hair, and that pale complexion, and I made myself turn my eyes away before she noticed. The look of her was too familiar for my own comfort as well, and all because something about it screamed _Writer's Wife, Writer's Wife_.

"I said I forgot that you said your mum was…that she couldn't hear or talk. You told us all in the white room, and well…it slipped my mind really fast. I should pay attention more often."

Some of my annoyance faded right then and there, and I found some little part of myself wanting to hide under a rock for at least an hour over my own rudeness. I'd heard people whisper behind their hands about my Em before, and sometimes give us pitying looks, or sometimes even mutter dirty things under their breath about the both of us.

She was as different as my Pee had been different, and until the time of my fifth birthday, they'd handled those differences together without ever bringing me into it. Afterwards, it had been just the two of us, and so I'd learned real skorry about what it was that some people didn't appreciate about either of them. I'd also learned all about how to give them dirty looks and how to act sensitive whenever the D-word was brought up on purpose, and so I had prepared myself for the same treatment from this Miss Georgina.

Quite surprisingly, that same treatment had never arrived, either in word or in expression. _Curious_.

"Hmmm…maybe, if there aren't any distractions…"

She was a distraction, all right. I'd snuck another look at her, and this time she'd noticed it without a doubt, because I'd seen her grin and raise both eyebrows.

"…Distractions?"

"Oh, you know, someone getting sick and nervous and the like…"

She was on to me. We'd talked for barely five minutes, and she was on to me. What on earth would I do next to fudge this up, peek at her groodies instead of her glazzies…?

"Is that so? Do I make you nervous, Mr.…?"

_My turn for introductions._ I hadn't done it when the two of us shared a car with Greg's little gang, so I had to share my name with her right now.

"Pete."

"Pete as in Peter?"

_No, Pete as in Pete's Dragon. Shall I breathe a little fire for you and prove it?_

"I guess…"

I half expected her to get bored and tell me goodbye before walking out the door…but again, she had to go and surprise me.

"Well, I promise not to forget that any time soon," she giggled, fixing those dark eyes of hers directly on me. "We'll be seeing each other again, did you know?"

"_We_?"

"Oh, yes yes yes. Greg said we'll be leaving shortly so you can have some time with your family, but we'll be back. It's always good to visit patients who are lonely, isn't it?"

"Who said I'm lonely?"

"Who held my hand in the back of Greg's car?"

This time, it was my turn to blush, because both Em and Georgina got a laugh out of this.

_This_? This wasn't natural. I'd been infamous on the streets because I'd never complained, protested, or cursed about anyone under my breath. I'd never yelled at the others in my shaika, or for that matter, talked out of turn to them either. Come to think of it, I'd never really spoken up to them at all until Alex's temper made him cane Dim across the knee.

Neither, also, had I dared to talk to any devotchkas on the streets, or any ptitsas either. They had always been Alex's territory, like he claimed, because he was the only one they'd ever want to talk to or put their hands on.

So…why was this devotchka so eager to talk to me, and how was it that she got me to answer her every time?

"Told ya so," Georgina teased, flipping a bit of hair over her shoulder. "We'll come and check up on you the night after next, all right? We might even bring you a little Christmas candy if John doesn't eat it all."

I wasn't sure what to say at that point, so I just nodded and attempted to look pleased with the idea of a visit. That must have been enough for Georgina, for I saw her smile in approval…and then come straight to my bedside, where she wasted no time in putting her arms around me.

"You'll take care of yourself until then, hmm? No drinking any more funny milk, right?"

"Right right…"

"What?"

"Sorry, habit. I meant sure, I'll do that."

With one last smile for us both, she was out the door, leaving me feeling dazed and my old Em with a curious look on her face.

_Now what was that all about, Petey?_ She asked me, a bit of mischief flashing in her eyes.

_I wish I knew, Em,_ I signed back, listening to Georgina's footsteps fade down the hallway into silence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Small fast-forward here, but hopefully it'll get some more action going…and maybe some backstory, too. Oh, yes…and somewhere in these next chapters I'll be sure to hint at a certain brainwashing procedure for a certain title character. ;) Peace out.

**4**

"Just in case," the old doctor had told me, poking me with an I.V. needle and watching it start to drip liquid potassium into my system. I'd lost so much weight before that they didn't want my heart to get messed up, and so like any other person who's starved themselves, that was what I got.

All I could think now was that I wished they had told me how much this would _sting_.

It was just like someone had taken a britva blade and slowly dragged it through my veins, one minute at a time. I didn't know whether or not I was on fire or whether or not that I.V. needle had been sucked into my arm somehow, and was now free to travel wherever the hell it wanted.

It was a miracle I could still sit up to drink more of that special juice.

I felt like I'd been stabbed by a thousand angry malchicks, but I managed to pull myself up anyway, sipping that fizzy peach or lemon or pineapple like my life depended on it. Maybe it did. More than once, I felt as though I was this close to choking on it or spitting it back up, but I managed it anyway as best I could. What I couldn't manage was trying to eat or sleep, because by that time it felt like my entire body was on fire.

I knew that I'd brought this on myself, make no mistake. I'd felt so miserable over watching Georgie die that I didn't force myself to eat back then, even though I probably should have tried to anyway. Did it _have_ to feel like I was being burned or stabbed from the inside out, though? Couldn't I have gotten some special painkiller to take this stinging away? Were these people not doctors, and didn't doctors have to help people without making them hurt worse?

Do no harm, they promise you…this didn't seem all that harmless to me! It was…it was _cruel and unusual punishment_, that's what! Why couldn't they have settled on feeding me the normal way, and not poked me with a needle at all?

On the other hand…why did I even bother not eating? Why did I bother wandering the streets every night, drinking moloko when I had to and fighting when I felt like it? That sure as hell didn't make anybody from the old shaika show up again out of the blue. I was as alone as I'd ever been, and all before I decided to go up to that garden gate and cause some trouble.

On the other hand…was I causing trouble by coming to that house? Had they wanted a night of playing games and drinking wine without me interrupting them? Was I just a nuisance that they were all too glad to drop off at the hospital and never think about again…?

I wished my mind wasn't so jumbled sometimes. I wished that at least one person had stayed behind, if only to talk to me a while and give me the answers I needed. I wanted to see Em again, but she'd driven her way home hours ago. So, also, had that Greg and the others, if only to give me and Em some private time earlier. There might have been a small bit of time between now and the next visit from the nurse. Until that visit happened, what would I do?

I tried lifting myself out of bed, careful to go one inch at a time just in case I got dizzy really fast. The last thing I wanted was to make it worse for everyone, myself included, by falling flat on my face and having to alert the emergency crew to pick me up and put me back into bed. Thankfully, when I felt the slightest bit dizzy, I would stop long enough for a few deep breaths until the dizziness passed me by. After feeling this about five or six times, I was on my feet at last, the hospital window waiting for me about ten or eleven steps away. I would have to drag that I.V. pole along with me, also, because no matter how bad it stung, it could mean the difference between a steady heartbeat and a cardiac arrest.

_ All right, Peter Clancy, take it slow,_ I told myself, sliding one foot along the floor at a time, watching the ice-edged window drift a little bit closer with each step.

_ One…two…three…four…_

It must still be winter out there, of course. I could see snow flurries through the window, even at this distance. I felt sort of glad that Greg allowed me inside in the first place, and didn't think to push me back outdoors into this weather. I barely survived the chill in my old white platties, didn't I…?

_ Five…six…seven…_

I also started feeling glad that I'd been brought here, and not kept inside Greg's house by myself as I'd originally wanted. Nobody might have come into that room right away if I'd fallen suddenly, because I would have had no alarm button to push, and so ask help for myself on the spot.

_ Eight…nine…_

Once again, I had to stop, but only to clear my head and try not to pass out. The feeling left as quickly as it had come, and with one more step, I had reached the window.

…_Ten!_

There was a blizzard out there, all right, or something very close to it. The snow that covered the sidewalks and streets alike had to be at least six inches, if not deeper. If there was ice as well as snow, that would have made things a lot worse for anyone having to drive home at this hour. No wonder Greg and his gang had to leave so fast. They might have faced white death if they'd decided to stick around a bit longer. As strange as all four of these people were to me, a part of me still wished they'd made it home all right, and maybe even found a good fireplace to stay extra-warm with. I'd always wished the best to people I barely knew, and tonight, they would be no exception.

_ My family used to have a fireplace once…_

That was back when I had been four years old, still in the stage of blankies and plush animals. Age five, the stage of books, toy soldiers, and morning kindergarten seemed like an eternity away. I wouldn't have had to leave home until that eternity passed; until then, I could play as much as I wanted, and pick up any toy I liked without some other kid fighting me for it. That had been the age where my Pee showed me how to make fire.

It had been as easy as changing socks for him, but back then for me, it was nothing short of _magical_. How was I to know that hitting a switch on a special wand would make fire appear at one end? How, also, could I have guessed that using that wand on a wood pile would just make more fire, only bigger and brighter than before? It was a sort of nice thing to see, especially on a cold day in winter and in the safety of home, no less. I liked the light; the sound of the crackling flames; and the glow of the embers, but most of all, I liked how my Pee could warm up the entire flat with just one little flicker of fire.

Along with his full-time work as one of the best architects in London, that fireplace was how he took care of Em and me. Em once said to me that he could be like that fire when he wasn't at home-even though we couldn't see him, we could still feel his warmth all around us. For that reason, when the weather was really bad, I would poke Em into keeping the fire going all day to remind myself that Pee would come back after sundown, and so unwind after work with the two of us.

_ The fireplace was the first thing we sold after he died…_

Sometimes I would sit there for hours, safely at home with Em or checked up on by neighbors when I had to be alone, just watching the flames dance and burn and waiting for the time that Pee would walk through the door of our flat again. The fire was like him, in a way, if a person like me could get symbolic—always warm, always alive, and always ready to shine some light on whoever was around.

Then came a routine visit to the hospital for a blood pressure screening, and about four days later, I saw him complain to Em in their voiceless language that he couldn't seem to stop coughing. Not only that, but he had a bad case of chest pain and shortness of breath to boot. We didn't hesitate to take him straight back to that hospital for the care he needed, and once there, all three of us waited in silence as a list of tests were taken upon him.

It wasn't until they said the words Legionnaire's Disease that I began to get scared. I didn't know how to say it in finger-spelling, and I had no idea how to write it for Pee or Em because I wasn't in school yet. All I knew was that the doctor warned us there might be blood involved, and so all I could call it was 'The Coughing-Bleeding Sickness'.

Four more days, and then I found out just how right I'd been all along.

Pee did cough and bleed, all right, and he did a lot of it before everything went downhill. The medicine they gave him worked for a little while…but then there was the infection, and then there was that trip back to the hospital, and then there was lung failure, and _then_ he stopped breathing completely. Em didn't know it had happened until they sent a message to her text machine, and I didn't know what she'd been told until I woke up to breakfast burning and her sobbing on her knees in front of the oven.

We never used that fireplace again, because some time after the end, Em had to have it removed and auctioned off to pay for the funeral. Any warming up we had to do was done with space heaters or blankets. No wonder we got the sniffles so easily.

_ Am I so different from my Pee? I'm in the hospital too now. Am I going to get that Coughing-Bleeding Sickness too, and will I die the same way?_

I didn't want to think about that right now. I didn't want to think about how my throat already hurt a little, or how I felt a cough coming on even as I stood by the window. Neither could I watch the snow and try to calm myself down, or else think about what I got for Christmas. All I knew was that I'd get a bad cold this year, and that I still had to deal with my cut-up feet and my malnourishment besides. All I needed was a long list of medicine, time at home, food and water…and after that, _what_?

I would have to wonder about that later, because I heard the nurse's footsteps coming down the hall at last. I would have to get back into bed before she arrived, because most likely she would have another tray of food for me to eat. Hopefully I would be able to swallow it as well as I had the first time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Look, up there in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's…CHAPTER FIVE!

No, seriously, it is. Come stay a while and read it, won't you? :) And uh…sorry if this is late, but um…I wanted to give out my very best, so I hope I succeeded here!

**5**

I'd done my best. Even though I'd had a spoonful or two of each part of my latest meal, I'd certainly done my best. I'd pulled my way through the meat, potatoes, and fruit on the side, and I'd kept them all down, too. 'One step at a time,' said the doctor, and one step at a time it would be.

I'd also gotten through half of my latest vitamin drink—was it raspberry or grape-flavored? I couldn't remember. What I did remember was how my throat felt a little dry, almost like cotton or sand, and that the fruity drink they gave me helped a tiny bit. The doctor smiled and said that all this was 'A Good Sign', because it meant that my appetite was coming back, and that my strength would follow the more that I ate and drank the good things they gave me.

I suddenly had trouble sleeping, though, even after I'd managed to eat at last. Something about this hospital bed had changed within minutes, for it was no longer as comfortable as the one back in Greg's special white room, and neither did it remind me of my own bed back at home any longer. The mattress now felt too hard and stiff to me, the blankets itched, and the pillows felt much too flat for me to _ever_ get to sleep. That was not 'A Good Sign', not by a long shot. I knew that I tossed and turned for about two hours, because the clock on the wall read about twelve in the afternoon when I tried to rest after eating, and by five minutes after two, I finally gave up and stared at the ceiling instead.

Was it just my imagination, or had the orderlies sabotaged this bed somehow?

I knew that it probably wasn't a good idea to whine or think badly of anyone, but right now, it felt like there was very little I could do besides feel upset and miserable at the same time. I'd been looking forward to another good night's sleep ever since those strangers had brought me here, and this stupid itchy bed had just made that impossible. What would I have to do to get the rest I needed? Would I have to hit the emergency button, and then ask a long list of questions from the first person to show up? Would I have to ask the nurse for a Sominex, and would they let me have one as weak as I was?

Would it be 'A Good Sign' if I needed just a _little_ extra help?

On the other hand…couldn't I just get rid of the itchy blanket, and then get to sleep that way? Maybe…if I wanted to bring my cold on faster by not being bundled up. I would still have to wrestle with those flat pillows and stiff mattress, too, and I had no idea how long that would last before my eyes closed. If my mind kept racing the way it did now, I might not rest until long after the sun finally set for the day. Could I really wait five hours for that to happen, if not longer?

I didn't like that Em had gone home a moment ago, not any more, of course. She had claimed to want to give me a little time alone to sleep, but since that wasn't possible now, I wanted her back. I had half a mind to pick up my text machine and message her on the spot, if only to have one other person to talk to besides the people in the white uniforms. Maybe she might even decide to come back on her own, because she didn't have anywhere important to go until the next morning. That was when anyone with a job would be required to go back to it until the first of January rolled around. Until that time should arrive, however…I would be free to see her whenever I wanted, wouldn't I? Would it be a small annoyance, then, if I decided to send her a message right now?

No. It probably would not, especially if she wanted to hear how I was doing. I felt a bit nervous and excited all at once, then, when I reached over to the bedside table to pick my little device up. She might be glad to hear about how I survived another mealtime, but might be disheartened if I also told her that I had insomnia. Still…there was no telling if I might feel better after talking to her, so I took a look at the screen anyway before setting my fingers on a few keys. It was then that I saw her message before I could make one of my own:

_ 2:30 PM—You + Me + Your new friends = Presents?_

She had sent it about fifteen minutes ago, which meant that she was probably on her way over, if not also with those four new people that had brought me here. I quickly typed out a YES and then sent it back to her, just in case she or the other four really needed my okay to come. I felt my low spirits start to rise after I'd hit that 'Send' button. I'd been a little mistaken in thinking that Em would need me to speak up before she visited me a second time. She had figured out the right time all by herself, and all I had to do was go along with it because it was also the right time for me. I also felt glad that her memory was better than mine, because I had just about forgotten that there were unopened Christmas presents back at home.

Then I remembered how I hadn't bought her anything, and the bad feelings returned. Would she be disappointed in me if I told her as much? Would she give me a little lecture and say that I should have remembered the date, no matter how badly I'd been feeling lately? Would she blink and wonder how I had missed the thousands of advertisements in the newspapers, on the billboards, on the television, and everywhere else? Would she just shrug it all off, and tell me that I could always get her some sort of gift card when I was well enough to come home?

It hadn't even come up the first time we had reconnected this morning. Maybe she wasn't worried about it at all like I was. Then again…what if things were so bad at the factory that she insisted on her only child remembering her gifts somehow? What if she used my ill-acquired fortunes as an excuse to not forget Christmas at all this year? What if—

_ Stop_.

The image of a fist hitting a tabletop snuck into my mind, and only then did my crazy thoughts finally decide to quiet down.

_ You don't want to make yourself sick again, do you_?

As if to answer myself, I shook my head and felt it clear up; then allowed myself to take a few deep breaths and release them. It would not do at all for me to work myself up into another of my panics, especially not right before a handful of guests were due to arrive any minute now. I was going to be visited by more than just two or three people for the first time in months, maybe even years. What good would it do for me to be so fearful of their arrival that I hid under the blankets like a malenky malchick, and refused to say one word of thanks to them for helping me?

What good would it do to my three new friends, and my Em too, for me to not show the slightest festive spirit today? It was the lights in their sitting room that had brought me there in the first place, just as good as any Heavenly star to any Holy manger. It would be better for me to be silently happy that they were there, and to do my best to celebrate besides, right right?

And, dare I say it…what good would it do to Georgina for me to be so visibly miserable? I knew that I'd upset her earlier when I exploded for no reason, and _directly_ at her, no less. I would have to find some way to calm myself down, then, and especially if she wanted to get a happy time out of her latest visit. It would be the best thing for everyone if I did just that.

Another few breaths in and out, and I felt myself feeling even better as the minutes ticked slowly by. I willed myself into thinking about anything else but my own discomfort. I forced myself to remember nicer things than the feelings of razors in my veins, or the itch of woolen blankets that were much too thick, or the hardness of a bad mattress. Instead of all that nonsense, I closed my eyes and remembered the peaceful darkness of that night before, and the way the snow fell on that house like icing on gingerbread.

I remembered the sweet coldness of that water they gave me, and how it had been soothing enough to reduce me to tears. I remembered the soft comfort of that bed I'd been allowed to borrow for the night, and how warm it had been after wandering around in the snow for so long. I remembered how they, three complete strangers, had come quickly to check on me the moment they heard me moving around upstairs. I remembered how those same three strangers plus one more had taken the time to bring me to this hospital bed, when they could have just as easily sent me away on my own and then celebrated this holiday instead.

Most of all, I remembered her, and how she might have had a cause for alarm from me. I saw her staring at my bruises with those dark eyes of hers. Did that mean she wondered how I got them, just like Em had wondered? She'd also gone so far as to hold my hand when she barely even knew me, never mind the fact that I'd only just met her. Did that mean she wanted to be close to me, whether or not she had any idea of who I was or what I had done before last night?

The last devotchka I ran into on the street just wanted some free pol, and had no idea how I was feeling or how exhausted all that walking had made me. That one and I had been together for a while, but as with so many other things, I'd forgotten about her after watching G…after watching _him_ die. Why had I run across another devotchka so soon, and in bad shape as I was, no less? Why was she suddenly so interested in who I was and what had happened to me? Why did her name _have_ to be Georgina?

_ Pull yourself together, Clancy!_

Again came that picture of the fist hitting the tabletop, and I heard myself whimper in pain this time. I didn't want to think about her name any more. I didn't want to think about this painful I.V., or the sound of my own whimpering, or the fact that the more I thought about anything, the more nervous I always became. I just wanted to look into her eyes again, if only to prove that she was real and not just another of my moloko-induced hallucinations.

One moment later, I opened my eyes, and only then did my wish come true.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Let me take a quick moment to welcome back GloriousVintageAndOrange to the fold, as well as her mind-twisting thriller, 'The Orange Room'. I look forward to sixteen more chapters of twists and turns if she sees fit, so…hope I get my wish. ;)

Second…when I start mentioning weather in this chapter, I'm going by the system they use in the U.K. to measure temperature, i.e. 68 degrees Fahrenheit would equal about 20 degrees Celsius. Just something to remember from here on in, so nobody is left scratching their heads and wondering what I'm talking about later on.

And now, without further ado…

**6**

Like some stroke of luck, magic, or divine intervention, Georgina had been the first of that four to return to my bedside that day. Em must have told her all about our plans for the afternoon, because she'd entered dressed well for the occasion. I very nearly smiled as I looked her over—her own welcoming smile, that curious new sparkle in her dark eyes, that forest-green dress with the trim of holly berries she must have picked out on purpose. Did she have a thing for dressing up on holidays? I would have to ask her as soon as they released me from the hospital, if not some time before then.

"How do you feel now, Pete?" she asked me, her voice full of concern. I wished that I could have given her a complete description of how I felt, but it would only depress her. Instead, maybe a little white lie would have to do for now.

"Better?" I rasped, my one hand crossing my first two fingers together under the blanket. "I think I might be on the mend, I mean. My cuts don't sting like they did last night, and my black eye—"

"—Your cuts? What cuts are you talking about?"

I stopped right there and started to imagine picking up a wooden board and hitting myself repeatedly in the face with it. So much for trying to keep all the bad stuff to myself. Taking a deep breath, I made myself sit up a bit and then slowly pulled back the blankets so she could get a good look and find out for herself. The worst about them had healed overnight, and I had been able to walk without any of them breaking open thanks to Greg's help…but the sight of them still stole the smile away from this devotchka's face.

"Oh-h-h…was it those boys you said you were fighting with? Did they do that, too?"

"Not this time," I mumbled, unable to make up an excuse for this one. "That was me walking around for too long in boots that were no longer my size. I wore myself out, that's all."

_ Again_ with the sad face. Hadn't that time in the white room been depressing enough for her? Worse still, I had no idea what to say now that might make her feel better this time. I had barely had a scrap of attention from girls besides Madge of the Purple Wig, and as of this moment I also had no clue if she still gave a damn about me or not. Until some big epiphany should happen to pop into my head or I managed to cross paths with Madge again, I could do nothing but improvise and pray for a miracle.

"Enough about me," I began, clearing my throat. "Why don't we talk about you for a bit?"

My throat ached and my veins still felt somewhat painful, but I managed to lift my arm anyway so that I could motion Georgina over. A part of me wanted to pull her close and get a good sniff of her perfume, if only to prove to myself that she wasn't a product of the moloko or of my own imagination as some other things had been. I had been almost entirely by myself for half a year, so some spot deep inside my mind had been desperate for some kind of interaction, _any_ kind, with a conversation between myself and some friendly devotchka as an added bonus.

However, I also knew that moving ahead so quickly would make Georgina nervous, maybe even terrified that I was out to abuse her in whatever way she hated the most. I couldn't do that to her. I wouldn't. Instead, I was careful to take her hand and lead her closer to my bedside, all the while smiling as warmly as I could.

"So…how are _you_ feeling?"

"A bit cold," she confessed, "but I think I'll be all right. The heater feels very nice in here."

"You don't think you'll need any blankets, then?"

"Oh no, of course not. I'm just glad to be inside."

"You're not the only one," I mumbled, feeling my face grow hot. It suddenly occurred to me that if I hadn't found my way to Greg's door, I might have frozen to death outside…and that I also might not have found my way to her, or been able to sit here and talk to her as I was this moment. There was something very frightening about that idea.

"I beg your pardon?" Georgina asked, eyeing me strangely.

"Oh, well, you know…it's very chilly outside now, and er…the snow was really coming down last night, too. I might have caught worse than a cold if I'd stayed out there any longer than I did."

To my relief, her expression went back to normal, and she even reached over to pull a chair up to my bedside. Things were definitely looking up.

"I should say so, silly! It's a miracle you didn't die of exposure. You didn't even have a coat on…or at least, that's what Greg told me."

She stopped and glared at me then, the look in her eyes suddenly stern.

"What were you _thinking_, Pete? Wandering around in your shirtsleeves in seven-degree weather? Do you have any idea how lucky you are?"

Did I say things were looking up? I meant they were headed back downhill, and faster than I'd like. Ha ha _ha_.

"I didn't do it on purpose," I insisted, feeling my hands start to ball themselves into fists under the covers. "I mean…I had a bit too much to drink last night, okay? I was depressed—"

"—'Depressed', were you?"

"Yeah, I _was_! You'd be miserable too if your friends ran off and left you _all by yourself_!"

Now I'd said too much, and I knew it by the way Georgina looked as though she'd just been slapped across the face. She would be asking me all sorts of questions now—the names of those friends, where they lived, what they pretended to do for a living and what they _really_ did every night, how I'd met them, how I'd let myself get drawn into their sick, twisted games, and all about how I let them talk me into harming a woman after thinking they would never put me up to such things. And once I'd given her all the answers, once I'd spat out everything I _never_ wanted to remember any more, she would walk out that door and never come back. She would—

"Come here for a minute."

She had her left hand still in my right, while her right had gone up to my left arm. What was she planning to do, bang my head against the bed rail?

"I beg _your_ pardon, Green?"

"I'm not going to hurt you, silly. Come here, and you'll see what I mean."

Not knowing what else to do, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and leaned forward…and then felt myself get drawn into another hug, this time from her. _Her_, of all people…and on Christmas Day, no less. Was this _legal_? Did she have some sort of relative on the police force ready to jump out at any moment, slap me into a pair of handcuffs, and finally bellow 'You're under arrest for public indecency'? Was she about to reach even higher and pull me into a headlock; then make me apologize a million times forwards and backwards for very nearly committing suicide by exposure to the cold?

On the other hand…I started to feel comfortable again, and not just because I could no longer feel whether or not my blankets itched. It was because I could slip my arms around her waist as she held onto me, and not have to worry about her pulling away or pushing me off of her and accusing me of crossing the line. I'd let her make the first move, and for that, I didn't have to worry about making the wrong impression. Come to think of it, it was as though all the worries I'd had before were now vanishing one by one, like they were popping like bubbles or puffs of smoke thinning out into the open air. It was as though I'd never fretted over the stinging in my veins, the lack of my own sleep, or the uncomfortable parts of this bed. Instead, there was only silence, a bit more warmth than I'd had before…and _roses_. I could actually smell roses even though there weren't any of those flowers in bloom anywhere. Was that the perfume I'd hoped to smell a moment ago…? If so, this one _definitely_ knew how to pick her scents.

"There, see? How does that feel?"

I felt myself calming down, but at the same time, something inside me was clamming up all over again. My eyes were swimming just as they had in the white room the night before, and I could feel myself shaking for no reason. Was I about to have another panic attack, and this time embarrass myself in front of Georgina because of it? I didn't want to make myself sick any more, and I definitely did not want to leave a mess for the hospital staff to clean up.

At the same time, I didn't want to wail like some helpless baby in front of somebody I barely knew. I didn't want to fall to pieces, because I was much too old for that sort of thing…but I could feel that hole in my heart opening up again, threatening to rip me in half if I didn't do something to keep my emotions under control. There was no place for me to hide or take a few minutes to myself in, because my weakness would make me pass out if I tried to go anywhere. And if I couldn't let it out or hold it in any longer…what _would_ I do to get rid of all this misery?

"We have time," Georgina whispered, gently rubbing my back as though she could tell exactly what I was thinking.

"The others won't be here for several minutes. Now…is there anything you'd like to tell me?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Hiya hiya hiya, gang…just wanted to let you know I'll be headed out to the beach on June 17th until the 25th, so ah…try not to play too rough in the fandom whilst I am gone, allrighty? Anywho…it's about time for an update, don't you think?

**7**

"I can't…I can't…"

There I was with one of several new decent human beings that had suddenly appeared in my life, and I found myself completely unable to talk to her. My own misery had already seen to that. I could barely swallow without my eyes watering, and so also could I not say a single word without feeling the sobs catch in my throat.

What was _wrong_ with me?

This wasn't natural, because it was happening much too quickly. This shouldn't have happened at all until at least two months from now, long after I had gotten back on my feet, reached my normal weight, and finally gotten my life back into some sensible form of order. This shouldn't have happened, _period_, because the group I'd once gone out every night with insisted that we all behave like men, and not worry or weep like little girls. Instead, I was malnourished, trapped in a hospital bed with no chance of escape, holding on to a complete female stranger…and _crying_. It didn't take a simple favor like a free glass of water to get me started this time. All she had to do was pull me down to her level and, against my better judgment, my eyes and my throat joined forces to finally let the waterworks loose.

"Oh, yes you can…just let it out. You'll feel better afterwards, I promise."

Feel better? Easy for her to say. _She_ was in the prime position to get stabbed in the back in every way imaginable. A meaner malchick would have done exactly that, and maybe also torn a giant hole in the back of her clothes so that he could get them off easily right before _raping her_. Why did she have to go and be so careless with her own safety? She wasn't a doctor. She wasn't a therapist. She wasn't even one of those special nurse practitioners that could switch between stethoscopes and lowering bedrails. There was no logical or ethical reason for her to do any of this, because whatever this was, it was doomed to fail any second now.

Except…except it wasn't failing at all. My eyes stung, my throat ached, and my heart felt like an iron weight inside of me…but I _still_ allowed myself to weep, and made no attempts whatsoever to hold anything back. This girl knew absolutely nothing about me save for my name and how I'd come to be at Greg's house, but she still insisted on holding my face against her shoulder like…like I'd somehow turned into a child, and she the mother.

"…I can't _do_ this anymore!"

"You can't do what anymore, Pete?"

"All…all of this, Green. I can't keep wandering around alone and fighting by myself and…and not know if I'm gonna live or die every night or—or not letting anybody else know until…until…"

"_Sh-h-h-h_."

She was running a hand through my hair now, an act I found to be both comforting and maddening. Had I been worried about moving things forward too quickly? She was the one who had to get up close and personal instead, leaving me blameless and nervous at the same time. Didn't she know how to keep her hands to herself?

On the other hand…all this isolation had clearly put a crack in my rasoodock, a crack I had no idea how to mend or fill up again until it healed. Was it really so hard for me to get close to someone else now? Had I become so distrusting that I wanted nothing to do with anyone, even when their intentions were one hundred percent honorable? The answers were much too painful for me to imagine. Did all of this nightly activity turn me into a hollow shell somewhere back outside, leaving me useless and unable to show my feelings to someone? I didn't want to be that sort of person any more, if I had indeed become just that. I wanted to be normal again. I wanted to be _me_.

"You don't have to keep wandering around alone if you don't want to, silly. Would you like to hear a little secret?"

On the other hand…my eyes were wet, my hands trembling, my body choking on my own pain…and all because she'd suggested it. No—because she'd _encouraged_ it. Was it better for me not to hold everything in any longer? Was I fretting over nothing, and would I truly feel better once I'd let out a few more tears? It bothered me that I couldn't figure this complex problem out as fast as I'd hoped to. I was the one who had been expected to see all the details as my gang's lookout, and now I couldn't even see inside myself to find out what was happening to me. Was she filling in for me in this regard? Somewhere inside, a part of me wished it were so. If it hadn't been for her, I might never have let this pain out at all, let alone spoken up better to the others once she'd walked into the white room. Was it really so bad to vent after all, especially around _her_…?

"A…a what?"

"A secret," Georgina repeated, still stroking my hair as though to calm me down even more.

"Like I said, you can stop wandering right now if you really want to. I know a way you can stop. Greg himself suggested it to me right before I left for this place."

Whatever I was about to say, it halted in my throat before I could let it out. Suddenly I felt numb and a little heavy, like someone had tied invisible weights to my arms and legs to keep me from going anywhere. I could still think, though, and all I could think was, 'Oh, please, not this again!' I was in danger of falling into old habits. There was no other word or sentence for it, because I was one step away from sentencing myself to another round of submission and obeying without question.

"Greg has an idea, eh?" I heard myself rasp. "Does it involve bringing me into your little gang without any background checks as to who I am?"

Now it was Georgina's turn to be nervous, because she pulled away enough for me to see the fearful look in her dark eyes.

"What do you mean, Pete?"

"Why no questions? Why no metal detectors? Why no policemen…or _policewomen_, even? Did you even look to see if I was armed or not?"

"Because you were unwell, and you needed our help, that's why," she answered me flatly, even though I could hear that telltale waver in her voice.

"As to whether you were armed or not…well, whatever weapons you did have are probably still at Greg's house. You left your other clothes there, remember?"

A small pang of guilt struck me at that moment. I _did_ remember leaving my old things there, which also meant that I had just shown anger towards this girl for no reason. By giving me a change of clothes and not telling me where they put everything else, these four strangers had just kept a giant fight from happening. There was no question who the enemy was here, of course, and that made my guilt sting a little bit worse.

"So…so then…you don't think I'm a threat? I could still grab you; try to pin you down somewhere…"

"…And you'd see me hitting the emergency button to call the staff," Georgina countered, the frightened waver fading from her voice. "You'd be outnumbered four to one in minutes. There! What do you think of me now?"

There was a hard-edged look in her eyes now, an expression that told me flat out, '_You can't get rid of me that easily. I came here to help you, and I'm going to help you no matter what happens to me in the end._' It was more than enough to make my own resolve shatter to pieces before her. Instead of fighting her physically or verbally, all I could do now was falter and pray that she wouldn't change her mind.

"I'm a manipulative trickster, aren't I?" I sniffled, wiping my eyes dry and waiting for her words of rejection. "I shouldn't be agreeing to go anywhere with you all; we barely know each other—"

"—Not even as a favor?" she pressed, reaching down to stroke the back of my hand with her thumb.

"Is it just a favor, or did I pressure you into this with…with my _bad_ behavior, or something? Are you sure I'm not playing you into sympathizing with me?"

I didn't trust myself with the way I was acting. Come to think of it, I probably would not trust myself for quite a while, even if I was on the mend and could think a bit clearer than usual. There was always that chance something could go wrong with me _and_ against someone else, and so I would have loved nothing better than to withdraw until I was sure it was safe for other people to get close to me. That did not seem to stop Georgina in her tracks, however, for she went on stroking the back of my hand and smiling as though to reassure me.

"I don't know," she said quietly, glancing off into space. "I mean, Greg said you might have some physical and mental issues to work out, so there are always those…you didn't like the idea of leaving your mother alone either, remember? Causing trouble just doesn't sound like your—"

She suddenly went silent as three knocks sounded upon my hospital room door.

"Who do you think is out there?" I asked, but not without gingerly touching the back of one of her hands in return.

"That just might be your Em with the presents," she told me, pulling away from me and standing up. "I think it's time to celebrate the season now."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Hiya hiya hiya gang…I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

*ahem*

This next chapter might be a bit shorter than the others, but that's just because I wrote it down in a notebook before typing it up. The next one should be the usual length, I promise. Anyways…happy reading, and don't forget to leave a comment!

**8**

Tonight was my very first Christmas inside a hospital bed, and hopefully also my last.

I still felt a little shaky as Georgina went to open the door, even slightly nauseous, but I managed to pull myself into a sitting position as my visitors entered. First came Greg with a few small parcels in a box; this was the doctor who'd gone through so much trouble to look after me and bring me here. I would have offered him a chair if there had been more than one, and also one for all the others. However, as there was only one chair at my bedside, I offered him that one as a resting place for his box, which he accepted.

"How are you feeling now, Pete?" he asked me, moving aside to let Em come in with two parcels of her own.

"Better," I lied, hoping he hadn't noticed my wet eyes or the remainder of my sniffle.

"Georgina kept me company right up until the moment you knocked."

"What sort of company?" Matthew asked automatically upon entering. I wasn't sure I liked the strange look on his face or the tone of his voice, but fortunately, I wasn't alone.

"Never _you_ mind," Georgina snapped, rolling her eyes as she closed the door behind him and John. "Pete, do you need an extra pillow?"

"Er…no, I mean…I'm okay. Yes."

I barely ignored Matthew's glare in time to focus on her, because it had very nearly squashed my resolve beneath it. Thank goodness Gigi had been there to calm me down somehow.

"Does anybody need help handing things out?"

"I've got theirs and your Em's got yours," John said to me. "How are your nerves today?"

"Fine, I guess," I answered with a shrug. "I haven't thrown up since this morning, if that's what you mean."

"And your cuts? Are those healing all right, d'you think?"

"Maybe. Probably. I guess so." I heard my own voice suddenly turn bitter. "Why all of _this_ attention? Wouldn't it be better if I just scheduled a doctor's appointment?"

"A routine house call, nothing more," Greg said evenly, motioning John, Matthew, and Georgina over to the chair. "We'll worry about the appointments later. Now…who's first on the list? Ah, here…"

My feelings about four people acknowledging my existence after so long were clouded, maybe even somewhat ambivalent. On the one hand, some part of me warned that it wouldn't last very long, and that I just might be better off if I left them behind before they could do just that to me first. On the other hand, there was a different part of me that wondered if I'd gotten _too_ used to the silence, and if so, had I possibly forgotten what it was like to be part of a group? I didn't have time to think those things over, though, because I felt Em nudging my hand and tapping one side of my face so that I would look at her instead.

_ I'm here, I'm here,_ I assured her, giving her my full attention. _What's all this, now?_

_ Open them up and see,_ she urged me, passing me the larger of the two so that I would tear its wrapping paper off first. That one was most likely a new sweater for me, because Em knitted a new one by hand every year for me and Christmas Day. What I expected was the same sort of sweater I got when I was still in school—plain collar, dark background, and a somewhat lighter color to make my first initial on the front. What I found when I opened up the parcel turned out to be completely different. Through my current weariness, I slowly took note of its V-shaped collar, its lack of sleeves, and its single color of gray-blue with no letters whatsoever sewn into its front. It looked exactly like something a smart, accomplished person like my Pee would have worn, not a sick, imbalanced malchick like me. That was what made this Christmas feel a little bit strange.

_ What do you think?_ Em asked me, putting an arm around my shoulders.

_ Em, I…I…_ I was so thrown off guard that even my sign language was riddled with stammering. …_This is an adult's sweater, isn't it?_

_ Of course. You're well past eighteen now, aren't you?_

_ Well yes, but I can't…I don't _feel _like it, and…_

_ It's all right._ She tapped the backs of my hands then, suddenly wary of our company. _Perhaps we should talk about this tomorrow, maybe by ourselves?_

I wasn't sure what she meant by 'tomorrow', because tomorrow would mean going back to double shifts at the factory while I stayed here, doing my best to get well and hoping I didn't catch any other viruses in the meantime. I supposed she could switch a shift with someone else or call off in order to visit me, though, so I nodded my assent. I would have a lot to talk about with her, and my new friends might not understand it all if they happened to listen in. I would save that conversation for after my release from the hospital. Until that time came, I would try and focus on happier subjects instead.

"Well, aren't _you_ the mind reader today?"

Like the presents my rescuers received, for example. I glanced over at them at just the right time, because Georgina, John, and Matthew had all received new books from the good Doctor himself.

"I _did_ catch you eyeing the one on the shelf last week, after all. There's no shame in indulging once in a while, is there?"

Each book had something important to do with them, if my mind was working correctly as I peered at the covers. Georgina's seemed to have a set of printing blocks, John's had something to do with medicine, and Matthew's appeared to have an interest in locking systems. If I wasn't too tired or too weak tomorrow afternoon, I would have to ask them a question or two about those books when I got the chance.

"Probably not, probably not…hey, come take a look at Pete's present!"

That warning voice inside my head decided to speak up once again, and this time, it told me that a homemade sweater would give away my family's troubles with money. For that reason, my reflexes made me want to hide it as fast as I could—but only until Georgina picked it up and showed it off to the others, her smile never wavering for a second.

"See this? Thanks to his Em, he'll never have to worry about getting cold again!"

Did I think she would laugh at me for this? Had I worried about not getting anything bought from a shop window like the rest of them? If I had, then maybe it would be a much better thing to stop right there, and not worry or think such things any longer. I watched her fold it up again and place it into my waiting hands, but not before feeling myself blush nearly as red as her hair.

"Oh, and there's another one over here, I think…right by your arm? Why don't you open that one, too?"

Still blushing and trying to avoid her eyes, my fingers turned clumsy as I tore the wrapping paper off a little bit at a time, my own hands slipping and almost dropping it every few seconds. After what seemed like long minutes rather than mere moments, I finally read the title of a book of my own:

"How to Draw Your Own Comic Strips."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** I deliberately played hooky from my stories so that I could read 'A Dance with Dragons' by George R.R. Martin. Now that I'm done…it's back to work, I suppose. Maybe I'll stop at fourteen chapters, maybe I'll do more…but anyways, here's chapter 9!

**9**

Within what seemed like fractions of a second, I'd gone from feeling safe in my own little world to becoming the center of my guests' attentions. No sooner had Georgina spoken up than Greg and John came over for a closer look, and Matthew remained standing in one place even though I could see him scanning the title of my book over for curiosity's sake. There was no doubt in my mind now that I had answered one of my own questions—I _had _been by myself for far too long.

"So today we have an artist," Greg observed, smiling down at me.

"Nearly," I mumbled, staring down at my blankets on purpose. "I haven't tried anything new in months."

"Why not…?"

"Because I didn't have the strength or the concentration, that's all. You'd be the same way if you starved yourself, wouldn't you?"

"Of course." He looked away for a moment, almost looking apologetic if my eyes were working correctly. "You'll have plenty of time to get all that back, though, I hope. This room should be restful enough, I don't think—"

"—'Restful'?" I laughed coldly. "These blankets itch and this mattress feels like stone. How is that supposed to be restful?"

"They itch because you kicked your sheet off, silly," Georgina laughed, pointing down at the floor. "Why don't you put that one back on and see what happens?"

I wished that I could have laughed along with her, but I felt myself blushing too hard for that. It wasn't fair to her for me to be so rotten. It wasn't fair to any of them, especially Em, for me to be acting like this. A part of me wanted to hide under those blankets and somehow make myself disappear until I could be sure that I was alone again. There would be no walking out on me, though, not with this 'good Doctor' as this group's obvious leader. Instead, I just stared down at the floor and reached for my fallen sheet, which Georgina handed back to me without hesitation.

"Sorry…"

Having my sheet back made a big difference, because after I put it back in the proper place, I felt a bit more comfortable and barely noticed the itch of the wool blanket at all.

"That's okay. It's going to take a lot of adjusting for you, I'm sure?"

I felt my tongue start to knot up, so I just nodded and mumbled, "Maybe." That seemed good enough for Georgina, because I noticed a bit too well how she smiled and pulled the blankets up closer around me, almost as though she were tucking me in or something. What on earth was _with _this devotchka? Did she have a thing for sick weirdoes, or what?

"There you go. How does that feel?"

"Better." I thought about trying to go back to sleep, and maybe also sending the others safely back to their homes, but soon I found out that I needed to do something slightly more important first. Roughly speaking, I had some _business _to take care of.

"Um…I think I have to go."

"Go? What do you mean by—"

I quickly jerked my head towards the restroom's door, and then it was Georgina's turn to blush.

"Oh-h-h…all right then. Er…do you need any help to the door?"

All I had to do was glance over at the three men behind her, and John came right away to help me leave my bed without fainting or falling.

"This won't take us more than a few minutes," he promised Greg and the others, slowly pulling me to my feet. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten our other plans."

How strange it was that I could not easily do what I _must _have done a million times over. I was still so very weak that John had to hold me up by one arm just to get me inside. It was nothing short of embarrassing to have to do such things, but I knew it would be all the worse for me if I didn't go about my usual business without any help from my new companions. At least I was rewarded with some privacy once he got me to the door, for he politely waited outside until the time came for me to come out again. I had to admit that I feared I might see blood once I was done, but thankfully that nightmare didn't happen to me in the slightest. In the meantime, though…what did happen was a load of talking between the two of us.

"Still feeling grievous?" John asked me, talking through the cracked door so that no one would eavesdrop on us.

"Grievous about what?" I muttered, holding onto the rim of the toilet just in case.

"You know bloody _well _what, silly. We both do. How long has it been since you lost them all?"

"Lost…?" Leave it to him to reopen old wounds at a time like this. "Six months, maybe…why do you ask? What's that got to do with _you_?"

"A lot." I heard him go silent for a moment, then: "It's been almost two years to the day for me. I was the only one who made it to Greg's door, and I lived to tell the tale later on as well."

_The only one.  
_

I hadn't expected to hear that sort of thing from John, at least not until I heard him speak Nadsat to me. Now it made a bit more sense…but not without me getting a sinking feeling in my stomach over it. Would he behave like a lewdie from my old shaika, or would he act a lot more savage to me later on just like _another _of them was famous for…?

"So then…the rest of yours snuffed it?" I heard him let out a low, mirthless laugh.

"Yeah. They did."

Our conversation paused long enough for me to pull the lever; then I used the rim of the toilet to steady myself until I reached the sink.

"How did you get through those two years without losing your head?"

"Rather easily, once I found all sorts of help."

Help. Right. He made it sound _so _easy, like you could just go outside and pick a psychologist off of the nearest tree, or get in touch with the nearest therapist just by hitting 'Zero' on the cell phone. Would I find the right person for that after a small search online, or if I skimmed through the right sort of phone book? And if not there…then could I count on these newcomers to stand in for that psychologist or therapist instead?

"I think I'm ready to get back into bed," I told him, once I'd finished washing my hands and using a few paper towels to dry them. By then I was feeling a bit more sluggish, and maybe also slightly drowsy as I leaned on John's arm. My bed seemed so far away from where I stood; yet after several little steps and a few deep breaths, I managed to get there without falling.

_If I make it out of here, I'm sending them homemade thank-you cards, _I promised myself, slipping back beneath the blankets and bundling myself up as much as I could. By then everyone except Em had gathered up their books and coats, a sure sign that the foursome was heading home. Words couldn't describe how much I wished Em and I could have joined them.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" I rasped weakly, my head sinking into the pillows behind me.

"Probably the day after," Greg said, pulling a stocking cap onto his head.

"Why…?"

"Work for us, and time alone with your Em for you. No doubt you'll have plenty to talk about, I'm sure?"

I felt a little confused after hearing that, but I blocked it quickly out of my mind. It was just a mere coincidence. After all, it wasn't as though someone could eavesdrop on sign language, now, could they?

"You look after yourself now," Georgina giggled, poking me in the side. "You'll be on the mend when I get back, won't you?"

"I'll do my best," I promised, allowing her to give me one last hug before she followed Greg into the hallway.

"Remember what we talked about," John said in a whisper, glancing between me and Matthew. "I've got a feeling Greg's going to want to help you out any day now. You'll know the right answer to give him when the time comes, I hope?"

"I hope so, too," I answered. Let him think on that whatever he wanted. As for me, I was close to giving up on the idea of four-man groups, or even four men and a woman as long as she was safe around the others. Maybe Matthew was starting to think twice about the idea, too. I saw as much on his face right before he left, and I could have sworn he even _snorted_at me. How's that for a goodbye?

_They seemed nice,_ Em observed, going about the room and turning the lights off until it was just one corner lamp glowing by my bedside. _Do you really think they'll come back…?  
_

_I don't want to think much of anything right now, Em,_ I confessed with a small sigh. _I just want to sleep and stay asleep for once.  
_

_Then go to sleep,_ she teased, pulling the covers close around me and then gently stroking my hair. I fell straight into Dreamland before fifteen minutes had passed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** Deep psychotherapy for sociopaths? Tend and befriend instinct for women? Richard Connaught in a Youtube video? Sometimes the Internet is generous...

**10**

By sunrise the next morning, my throat felt sore, my nose stuffy, and my head was almost in a total fog. My first drink of the day was hot black tea with an orange slice floating on the top, and that was soon chased down with a spoonful of orange medicine that tasted strangely like liquid Ben-Gay. As much as it soothed my throat's soreness for a time, that gradually gave way to coughing and blowing my nose into various tissues. My very first day of suffering from a winter cold had finally arrived.

The doctors and nurses were very patient with me, though...thank goodness. I received quite a few cups of cold water that morning, because they told me it would help my throat. I also learned the benefits of warm toast with melted butter and sliced peaches—not only was the first easy on my sore throat, but the second gave me a few extra vitamins to fight it. I silently imagined myself holding a peach-shaped ice cube against my throat as I finished them off one bite at a time. That would have been funny and soothing all at once, as long as I didn't have to deal with it melting in my hands.

Then I snapped back to reality with my last swallow, and had to blow my nose for what seemed like the fiftieth time since I'd woken up. Someone was knocking at my door, and the orderly had let them in on the spot. It was Em as promised, and she'd brought along a stack of letters with her. I had no problems using sign language today, because it would help me rest my voice for the time being and communicate well in the meantime.

_Hi there, Em..._

We couldn't hold hands or hug, because then I would most likely give her what I'd caught. That didn't stop her from smoothing my hair back or kissing me on the forehead, though.

_Hello to you too, Petey. How are you feeling today?_

Even though I wanted to crawl under my blanket and hide, I did my best to smile anyway.

_I'm sick as a dog. How are you feeling?_

She gave me an identical grin back, complete with a little space between her front teeth that matched my own. 

_Oh, I'm just fine. Better, now that I know you're safe. _

Her expression got so serious so quickly that I felt a shiver jump up my spine.

_I'm afraid we might have a more urgent problem on our hands, though._

_Urgent? _I signed, blinking once or twice._ What do you mean by 'urgent'?_

She refused to meet my eyes as she dropped the pile of letters into my lap. It wasn't until after she'd drawn away a few steps that she decided to look at me again.

_Petey...didn't you tell me that you had a job already?_

My hands started to put together a response, but soon I found myself dropping them just as fast as I'd tried raising them. There was a message stamped with the word 'Urgent' in large red letters, and I felt a shiver travel up my spine at the sight of it. I might have been able to fool Em on my pretend employment because my _real_ nightly activity had earned me handfuls of the shiny stuff to bring home and show her. What I could not do was show that same treasure to whoever worked at that Office, because then they would be able to add up the evidence and report me to the nearest policeman.

_Fine time for this to come up_, I thought, feeling the weight of Em's stare as I struggled to come up with an alibi. I had expected a long talk about us finding work for me together, not a short question about one of my various past lies. From the look on Em's face, she'd expected a quick explanation as to why I was receiving letters stamped in red from the State Job Office...and definitely not a stunned silence. That was the last thing she'd ever hoped to see from me.

_Well, Peter Michael Clancy? I'm listening. How come you seemed to have all that money from working half a year ago, and don't have any now...?_

Whether it was from my sickness or the fact that I was bundled up pretty tight, I couldn't tell. What I did know was that I felt a sweat coming on as I forced my fingers to cooperate, and so begin to air out all the dirty laundry of my past life.

_Well, first I had a rough time getting along in school, remember? After I got out of the elementary classes, right? It felt like it was just me, so...so I found this one group of boys who I thought would help keep me safe from the bullies, but—but not really, and so then...so then there was this other group that came along, and then we started having pretend fights with each other, and..._

I snuck a look back at Em, half expecting her to look angry or start yelling at me with her hands. Instead, she just wrinkled her brow and motioned for me to continue, almost as though I had worried her instead of frightening her.

…_And then we started fighting other people...well most of the time, other boys our age, but then we found these rich old folks, and—_

Em suddenly raised her hand for me to stop, and I felt that old lump settling in my throat again, reminding me that this wouldn't be good. 

—_Wait, wait. You're telling me you got involved in some sort of fighting club?_

I hesitated for about three seconds...then I made myself nod in agreement. If we had been _that_ clever to start with, we would have made it solely for organized fights in some kind of ring, and we might have earned money in a good way even though the State would have never given us permission for it. Still...the little battles we had between our gang and all the others were as close to actual battles as we had ever received, and as long as we didn't lose, we'd have had a lot of experience to brag about later.

_And then...some rich people came along, and started tossing in their money to bet on the winners?_

Sometimes the lie was so much more merciful than the truth. I closed my eyes and grimaced after hearing this, and Em automatically took it as a sign of me confessing my guilt in the matter.

_I don't believe it! You've been gambling?_

I managed another small nod, but not without thinking, _With my life. _ No other words could describe that except the ones I never wanted to sign or say out loud. Thanks to my Em's improvisations, I might not ever have to.

_Oh, Petey. Why didn't you tell me this as soon as it happened?_

_Because you were always away, that's why._

I smiled wistfully just to let her know I wasn't angry with her, but inside, my heart was pounding from the stress.

_I mean, truthfully, Em...double shifts every night, except on weekends! You didn't get home until one in the morning, and by then every other person on this island would be in bed, me included. What could I have said about...about any of this?_

I watched her lean forward in silence; then hide her face in her hands and start to sniffle. It wasn't fair that I had to be sick at a time like this. If it had just been me not eating that had me in this bed right now, I would have gone straight to her and hugged her without any second thoughts. Thanks to my stupid cold, that just wasn't possible even though it was the _only_ thing I wanted to do. Instead, I could only hang my head and stare at my hands as they clenched the edge of my blankets, completely helpless with my own mother crying in front of me.

I sat there without signing a word for about five minutes, maybe longer if my mind didn't count the seconds correctly. I hated myself for bringing this on—my malnourishment, my sickness, even all this suspicion about me and my tiny family just because I didn't have the guttiwuts to say no to a few smooth-talkers of the streets. There was only that one letter to hold my attention in the meantime, because that word on its front, that 'Urgent' stamp in red, had raised all sorts of worries and questions inside my mind. I might have had Em's help in creating an alibi for her, but what would I say to this State Job Office since I knew I would have to write back immediately?

As if to answer me, Em dried her eyes with the back of her hand; then drifted back to my bedside and opened it by tearing one of its corners across. I pulled the letter out, unfolded it, and read just enough to learn that I had exactly three days to explain why I had not visited the Job Office, and that I would have to include any necessary medical papers or other forms to prove my claim. If I succeeded, then there was always a chance of me receiving a federal pardon as well as some assistance in finally choosing a job for myself, effective as soon as I was proven to be physically able to undertake it. If I failed to do that, however, then the Office itself would send the police after me for occupational delinquency...and after that, I might even have to spend some time in a low-security prison until the State ended up choosing a job for me. There was no question for me on which way I would have to go, though. I'd already figured out the answer about ten seconds after hearing the entire message.

_Em, do you have a pen?_ I signed, my brow wrinkling in concentration.

_Right here,_ she signed back, handing one to me once she had fished it out of the bottom of her purse, along with a small notepad that I silently whispered thanks about to anyone up above that might be listening. Barely thinking of anything but protecting myself, I began to scribble out this message:

_**To whom it may concern:**_

_**Please excuse my terrible lateness at doing what was expected of me so long ago. I had easily been drawn into a fighting club for gambling purposes about three years ago, which finally disbanded early this summer. A short period of time after that, I was treated in a mental health facility from June until September, and from October to the present I had tried treatment with a therapist, but with very little results. **_

_**At the present time, I am in the State Hospital undergoing treatment for malnourishment and a winter cold. Please also accept any enclosed documents with this letter, as I wish to clear my name before the State Court and begin to live a more productive life. Thank you for your time.**_

_**Sincerely,**_

_**Peter M. Clancy **_

_Thanks, Em,_ I told her, handing her the pen back along with my finished letter. Em was able to smile a little after hearing this, and once she'd stored both back inside her purse, she wasted no time in holding my teacup to my lips so that I could enjoy the last of my tea. A lukewarm drink like that never tasted so good in my life.

_I'm glad that's over,_ she signed slowly, reaching just far enough to ruffle my hair. In return, I handed her my tissue box, because if I couldn't comfort her directly, at least I could make sure she was able to dry her eyes.

_So am I,_ I agreed, quietly hoping that this letter was the last of my troubles. Unfortunately, as I would find out within a few days, my troubles were just beginning.


	11. Chapter 11

**11**

Today marked day three of my two-week stay in the hospital. I'd woken up at six o'clock sharp in the morning, and no thanks to a borderline nightmare, I hadn't been able to make myself go back to sleep. Last night, I'd dreamed that I stood in the middle of an argument between a scruffy beggar, a rich merchant, and a beautiful princess, and that each of them wanted me to kill the other two in return for some sort of reward.

"Off that fancy man and that whore," the beggar rasped, "and I'll share the last of my wine and the scraps from my table with you for the rest of my life."

"Get rid of this rabble," the merchant sneered with a smile, "and you'll have wine and food together, along with a large sum of gold all to yourself."

"Execute these men," the princess commanded, "and not only will you have wine, food, and gold until the end of your days, you will also have my hand in marriage and as many heirs as I can provide."

Next I dreamed that I'd gone from wearing plain old brown farmer's clothes to a big shiny silver suit of armor, and that I'd also found a nice sharp sword in my hand to do the killing. First, I took the beggar's head in one big shive, only instead of any blood there was a pile of red sand falling into the grass. This made the merchant laugh to himself and the princess to smile just a little, because they didn't know if I was going to go after them next or go straight for the other. The merchant didn't have very long to wait, however, because then I jabbed my sword through his heart and caused another wave of red sand to fall to the floor. Finally, once the sand stopped falling, there was just me and that princess left behind, and the princess clapped her hands together like she was honoring some kind of performance from me.

"Bravo, bravo, Peter," she cheered, raising a hand to beckon me closer. "You've just made the right choice!"

"Not so fast, Highness," I heard myself say just as a tiny gold ring appeared on each of our hands to magically seal our bargain. "You'll have to bleed a little yourself for me to get some heirs, won't you...?"

That was the exact moment that I woke up, because some part of me knew that princess was about to get her fancy white dress torn open and didn't want the rest of me to witness it. Strangely enough, though, that wasn't quite the entire nightmare for me. What bothered me the most was that I had woken up hard down below when I had been perfectly normal and soft upon going to sleep.

"Oh, choodessny," I almost whimpered, feeling myself blush almost down to my collar. It didn't feel right that I should have that sort of sneety in a public place like this. It would have been much better for me to go through such things at home, where nobody in any special white uniforms would notice and start asking me any odd questions about myself.

Still...the bathroom door was wide open, and since I'd managed to swallow a large dinner the night before, I had the strength to get myself there safely and make myself go back to normal, too. Afterward, I took a few good breaths in and out, said a few prayers just in case, and walked myself back to bed where I stayed until the morning orderly brought me breakfast and more hot tea with the trademark orange slice on top. With my sore throat and my need for food, I was all too happy to chew every bite of that cinnamon oatmeal, and wash it down with that tea one sip at a time.

As much as I felt just fine with eating, though, the orderly still came and went much too fast for my liking. It would have been nice to get them to stay a bit longer. Unfortunately, I'd gone and made my mouth too full of food to say anything to them, and I hadn't taken the time to get their attention. Now it was just me, a few empty plates, and a used set of silverware; and probably no one to come back and get them for a good thirty minutes, at least. I was stuck on my own yet again until they returned, and I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself in the meantime. What time were Greg and the others coming to visit me? Seven o'clock? Eight? They might have told me a while ago, but I might have easily forgotten since then. Maybe now was a good time for a rest, because Em had always told me a person could help get rid of a cold by taking all the naps they could during the day. It was only six forty-five in the morning anyways, so at the minimum, I could get fifteen minutes in and just add an hour to that for the maximum.

My mind felt a little bit clearer as I mentally patted myself on the back for making the right decision. When Greg and the others came, they would see me somewhat rested and bundled up, and possibly also well-taken care of because I'd eaten a full meal earlier this morning. I might also be more alert and willing to talk thanks to all those friendly nurses and orderlies checking in on me around the clock. What would we talk about first when they arrived? The weather? Me finding my first real job? What we should do as soon as I was released? I knew it didn't matter to me, just as long as we talked about something interesting.

In fact, I had a tiny feeling that I couldn't wait for them to show up again. I almost giggled out loud as I made myself snuggle back under the blankets; then flipped the switch in order to turn the overhead light off. Things were starting to look up for me, even if only just a little, and so I felt a warm little spot of eagerness to see what was in store for me and my new friends. Unfortunately, just as I'd closed my eyes and taken a few deep breaths to settle myself down, I heard a new sort of knocking on my hospital room door. There were five short raps and then two long ones, very nearly like the beats of a short song or the notes of a catchy jingle. I would have known that style of knocking anywhere, no matter how long it had been since I'd seen its owner last. Madge of the Purple Wig had come back for seconds.

"Oh, _choodessny_!"

I'd barely remembered her flirting with me at the Korova a few nights ago, but I suddenly realized she would have remembered me loads better than I thought. She'd been there with Vicky and Laine during that fateful week which ended with little Alex going off to prison, and she hadn't budged an inch even with me wandering the streets by myself. What would she do when I told her I had no appetite for the old ultra-violence any longer...?

The five short and two long knocks sounded upon the door again, and I was forced to call her inside because I had a sick feeling she wasn't the type to be ignored. Madge practically bounded into my room like a lost dog returning to its master, her violet curls bouncing against her shoulders right before she sat down on my lap.

"I _knew_ you'd want to viddy me again, big brother," she gushed, tapping a finger against my nose and giggling like a schoolgirl. "Didst thou miss me?"

"Nearly," I said, lying straight through my teeth and pretending to be nice when I really wished she would just disappear. How was it that I'd been in this hospital bed for three days, and she hadn't bothered to show up until ten seconds ago? Had she really wanted to see my bruised face again that badly, or was she up to something instead?

"Well, worry not any more, my dorogoy," Madge purred into my ear, snuggling up against me. "Little Madge is here to make you feel dobby again, right right?"

She moved in to kiss my lips, but she got one side of my face instead. I couldn't explain why I did that, not exactly. Maybe it was because her perfume and lotion were much too strong when put on at the same time, thus threatening my already-sensitive stomach. Maybe it was because her bright purple wig and jet-black dress were too much of a contrast of colors for my weak eyes. Maybe it was both of those things at once, or none of them at all. Whatever it was, I knew that Madge touching me just didn't feel right any more.

"What was that for, now?" Madge pretended to whimper, folding her arms and glaring up at me.

"I've got a cold," I said, raising the edge of the blanket to cover up my mouth and nose. "You shouldn't go on touching me like this and that, little Madge. Do you want to be the next to get yourself into a place like this?"

"How baddiwad could it be if thou art here, brother?"

"How bad do you _think_ it could be? Do you like the idea of coughing and sneezing and having trouble sleeping at night? Do you want to feel tired all the time, regardless?"

"Fine-fine." She didn't leave the room like I'd hoped she would. Instead, she just moved herself over to the chair at my bedside; then went back to her silly happy routine.

"How is this now, my dorogoy?"

It would have been just fine with me if I hadn't met Greg and the other three before she'd arrived. If I had somehow gone to her flat instead of Greg's country house, things would have been completely different for the both of us. As my bad fortune would have it, though, it was like I'd stopped feeling close to Madge at all, if I had ever felt that way in the past. Was there something wrong with me, or was this just the surface of something deeper going on in my head?

"It's not enough." If she had attracted me whilst I was under the influence of the milk-plus, now she just bothered me to no end.

"It's nowhere _near_ enough. Can't you come back later? I might have some guests coming over."

"You have guests...?" I watched in silence as her eye twitched, then she frowned on the spot. "What guests? Who are they? Might I have viddied them before?"

"That's my business, and you're trying to put your nose into it."

"Well, shouldn't I also know who my dorogoy big brother is meeting today?"

"Not if your so-called 'brother' doesn't want you to, of course! Haven't you heard of patients' privacy rights? Sorrow take it, can't you just leave me alone or something?"

Just like it had been with Georgina on that first day, Madge looked like I'd just slapped her. Just like I'd done with someone else before, I wanted to be left alone. However, unlike her, she just grinned darkly and nodded, almost as though she could read my mind and was already plotting ways to undermine my thoughts. Maybe I would have to undermine her, too, if I was reading her expression right.

"Fine-fine," she answered slowly, doing a sort of swaying-walking dance towards the door. "Little Madge will leave thee alone...but she'll be back, oh yes she _will_. Big brother had better be ready when she does..."

She placed one finger on the doorknob, then her whole hand, and finally opened it to come face-to-face with Georgina and Greg.

* * *

A/N.: I was faced recently with writer's block, and probably would have had Madge disappear with a plot arc of 'Voices of Korova' unresolved. However, since I've also seen a few authors take on some darker aspects in their own stories, I finally decided to bring Madge back in for some conflict between Pete and his new friends, along with some more internal struggles on Pete's part. Let me know what you all think,

Weasley


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **I've got half a mind to make Alex the eventual villain of this series, and I just get even more sure of this with every new romance that appears...time to go against the grain, maybe?

p.s.: It's time for the cuteness to start sneaking into the story...are you ready?

**12**

It was almost like one of those State-made soap operas, the way everything played out next.

On one side of the door was Madge of the Purple Wig, her rainbow-painted eyes narrowed in suspicion over Georgina's sudden appearance. I could already tell that she didn't approve of me bringing another devotchka into the mix, especially since she'd very nearly gotten a bit of pol from me a few nights ago. I could also tell that I didn't much care what she thought about me or what I did, because she just wasn't that important to me now that the milk-plus had worn off. It was the two people on the other side of the door that concerned me now. First and foremost, there was Georgina herself, who looked as though she wanted to figure out if Madge was either a relative of mine or some devotchka on the side.

"Er...hello there?"

I felt a stab of remorse as I heard her try to be gracious to Madge, only to glance past her and stare at me with both eyebrows raised.

"We didn't expect anyone else to be here at this hour besides Pete and his family...are we interrupting anything?"

"Not at all," I interjected, speaking up before Madge said something rash and drove a wedge between us.

"Madge here took me by surprise, too. I was waiting for you and Greg when she popped in out of nowhere and jumped onto my bed."

I saw her start to pout right then and there, but I felt no need to comfort her. There was too much annoyance and revulsion floating around in my rasoodock for that. I wasn't wandering the streets by myself any more, and neither had I just entered the Korova for another nightly fix. I would have to learn to act a bit differently because of this, and for that matter, so would she.

"You don't mind if we come in and sit for a moment, then?" Greg asked me, wordlessly questioning my intentions with just one look. "Are you sure you don't want some time alone with Madge first, and have us come back later?"

"Try the other way around," I said flatly, glaring at Madge and then at the door in turn. "I'll see you now and I'll see her later. Is that all right with you?"

Madge couldn't object to me or my words in any way, because I'd already made my decision on what to do this morning. Instead, she could only glare at me briefly; then go on through that open door without a word, purposefully shoving Georgina out of the way as she disappeared into the hallway.

"Well, well..._that_ most certainly was odd."

Georgina watched the doorway long after Madge had gone, almost as though she expected her to come back and start wreaking some kind of havoc. I wished I could have left my bed and walked over to comfort her, but just as I had done with Em, I had to make sure I didn't give her my cold, either. That didn't stop me from imagining that I'd picked up a small wooden pole and started hitting myself over the head with it, though.

"I don't know her all that well," I almost managed to confess, until a sudden burst of coughing interrupted my words. That was something I had hoped would not happen until tomorrow, yet because I was already weak and sick to begin with, it snuck up on me just as surely as the cold that spawned it. It was then that I felt just a tiny bit worthless, because I had wanted to have a _real_, full-length conversation with Georgina and Greg today. However, thanks to my own stupid and bothersome health, I would instead have to deal with this other unwelcome visitor interrupting me every few minutes or so as I tried to speak. _Choodessny_.

"I'll get you some water," Georgina offered straightaway, standing up and walking towards the bathroom.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, see if Greg wants any," I tried to protest, but Greg just shook his head on the spot.

"I'm not thirsty," he answered, backing up a step or two on purpose. "And all medical training aside, I'm told water helps loosen up the phlegm inside you. Why not give it a try?"

Maybe it was just my cold making me think such things, but after hearing all that, I started to wonder just what was it Greg had on his mind lately. How was it that he was so bent on getting me into the back seat with Georgina in the first place? How was it that he'd become so interested in letting her get some water for me? I had to think that over for a moment as a fresh, new glass of water was soon brought up to my lips.

"There you go. Try not to drink it too fast, you might choke."

I appreciated that Georgina didn't think twice about treating me well, but at the same time, I had a feeling that choking just might have been the least of my problems. There was something much more important—or should I say, much more dangerous—happening right in front of me, and no thanks to my own curiosity. Some strange, unknown force of nature was making me do things I wouldn't have normally done, like slip my hand down over Georgina's own as I took sip after sip of water.

I wouldn't cry this time, of course, because that moment of sadness had come and gone. What I would do—and _did_ do—was trace the shape of her fingers, feel the smoothness of the back of her hand, wonder to myself if she would hold onto it until I'd finished the last drop. Oh, yes, I was curious about this devotchka, and so far not a single problem had come up to make me doubt myself...not like last time.

'Last time' was a dead zone of black, white, and purple, a place where only the most insane of individuals could and would ever hope to survive. 'Last time' was having to watch _everything_ I had ever hoped to be and _nothing_ I would ever be show itself off in spades, because its sole owner already understood this, and loved to torment me with it to guarantee that I would never run away from him.

'Last time' was some giant pit out of which I thought there would be no exit. 'Last time' was the place where my self-styled master and commander would taunt me with a countless string of female followers, each and every one there to constantly tell him how _wonderful_ he looked, how _wonderful_ he acted, how _wonderful_ he dressed, and so on and so forth, until the night I returned home to my silent flat, stared at myself in the mirror, and broke down in tears because I knew none of those devotchkas would ever think of me the same way as they did my leader.

Last time, I had been a nobody, a silent figure as still as the Korova Milkbar's furniture who tried to disappear into the walls every time he entered. Last time, I had hated everything about myself, and no thanks to his rotten influence—my clothes, my eyes, my voice, my hair...even my own _face_. But this time? Simple. This time was a lot, lot different.

_Pete..._

This Georgina, this Gigi-girl, could already have had her pick of three other malchicks, one of which was standing in the same room as she stood...and yet, each time, she made no move towards any of them. Instead, it looked as though she just might have eyes for nobody else but me.

Why was I suddenly so interesting to her?

I had no interesting job like the others obviously must have had. I couldn't do anything interesting right now besides feel sick, look tired, drink all sorts of fluids, and cough one time too many. For all I knew, I could have infected her and Greg together just by coughing out loud, or else by touching her hand. So...what was it about me that had caught her attention so well, and held it there?

_Pete...?_

"Uhhwaah...?"

"_Pete_? Pete, is everything okay?"

I snapped back to reality, where I soon realized I had drank every drop of water and then gone on sucking air until Georgina spoke up to get my attention. To make matters a tiny bit worse, Greg was still there sitting in the background, but not without enjoying a small chuckle at the odd way I had zoned out.

"Uh...yes?"

I blushed for what must have been the third time since I met them both, after which I wished that I had not left my old maskie behind me someplace outside these walls. A pity, I could have used it to hide my face until I felt myself go back to normal, or else not looked as flushed and red as I must have looked here and now.

On the other hand...there had to be a perfectly good reason why I was blushing so much in the first place. It wasn't because I felt overheated or feverish—and thank goodness for that, because that would have made my health so much worse—but rather, because something in my mind kept clicking at the sight of this little group. Was it because they seemed to be so much nicer than all the other shaikas I had encountered in the past? Or was it the idea of them looking after me so closely, and not expecting any payment or 'special favors' in return...?

"Silly! You zoned out just as you were drinking your water...what's on your mind that's made you so distracted?"

Then I happened to look back into her eyes, those eyes that reminded me of exotic wood and fresh gingerbread and darkening night skies, and that was when my heartbeat sped up without any warning. Could this be? Was this even possible? Could this turn out to be exactly what I thought it was? Could someone like me actually feel affection for someone like her?

"I think...I think it's _you_."

No Nadsat I had ever viddied in the past or the present had ever thought about this or ever felt this, not even the malchicks in my own shaika. Either they and the devotchkas had amused themselves for a time by sharing some pol and then forgetting all about the other, or else the malchicks alone had forced themselves between the devotchkas' legs and taken their pleasure without offering anything pleasurable back to them as compensation or consolation.

"You think it's me?"

"Yeah...?"

And so...how could it be that I, the last malchick that any devotchka would ever notice, let alone talk to or converse with, could suddenly feel so strongly about a dama that he barely knew? How could it be that she might feel the same way about me, even though she knew next to nothing about me and made no move to ask the necessary questions of me to protect herself?

"I wish I could hug you again," she admitted, smiling weakly. "I'd try to hold on until I knew you were well..."

_I wish you could, too! We'd both feel loads better then, wouldn't we?_

"I'm sorry I'm so ill," I mumbled, wishing once again that I could hide or, better yet, that she could at least read my mind so that she could hear what I felt too nervous to say out loud.

"If I wasn't coughing so bad right now, I'd want to do the same and not think twice about it."

I couldn't figure this all out just yet, because I was still so very weak, and quite a ways away from getting over my cold. I would have to wait and watch just as easily as Greg and the others were watching and waiting for me. I could still feel this presence, though, this connection between me and  
Georgina that I wanted so badly to explore, and all because of something important that I had remembered from my dream—that princess' hair was red as Georgina's was red.

"Don't worry about that now. We can always take a rain check on that, right?"

_And then go home and hug each other once they let me out of this hospital? You have no idea..._

"Right right."

Was that nothing more than my mind keeping a note on her while I slept? Was that something that could become a serious omen later on, including bringing me the one future I might have never expected for myself? I would have to see what happened, oh _yes_. I would have to hold onto Georgina just a little, and so then try to figure out if she was safe enough around me before I decided to take anything further.

In the meantime, as I waited for my next hot cup of tea and maybe also my next dose of cold medicine, I would try starting a conversation and see how long I could make it last.

"Greg...?"

"Hmm?"

"Could I ask you a question?"

"Of course! Ask away."

"What do you know about getting a job?"

* * *

**Additional A/N:** I decided to raise my page count to five, as a clear reflection of how Greg's group of four is slowly increasing to five. Let me know what you think,

**Weasley**


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's ****Note: **My thanks to Gilded Butterfly for some lovely examples of writing for this fandom, be they completed or not. No matter what happens, I hope to be here when she returns! Anyways...before I get too weepy or lonely, here's chapter 13 of my Pete story, all. Hope you like it.

**13**

"Well, I'm not entirely sure what's out there," Greg answered after a moment's worth of thought.

"I mean, surely there are the usual seasonal positions like in retail or entertainment; then you have the interns and job-shadowing people...I'm guessing you're looking for something a bit more, ah..._permanent_?"

"Maybe," I said quietly, feeling Georgina nudge an extra pillow behind my back so that I could sit up better. "Do you know if any businesses are about to open up?"

"Wasn't there some insurance company opening next month?" Gigi asked, glancing between us both. I felt myself perk up a little after hearing this. Who knows—it might just have been my big chance.

"Ah, yes, I do believe you're right," Greg said after another pause, as though remembering something important. "There might have been a note about that in the hospital breakroom a few days ago. Maybe they're looking for employees right now?"

"_Really_?" I very nearly shouted, feeling my eyes widen in excitement. "Where do I sign up for that?"

In one instant, I saw both of my new friends' enthusiasm vanish like a wisp of cloud, and with it, I suddenly felt rather sheepish.

"Well...you _don't_, exactly," Georgina told me, a bit serious for once. "Once you sign up at the Job Office, er..._they_ decide where you end up working."

The "Job Office." Of course. After all my thinking (and borderline _spazzing_) about getting to work, I just had to hit a State-made roadblock. I should have expected they would have a hand in this matter...or two, since they'd already given me that warning notice in the post. Instead, I had celebrated too soon, and now I had to be brought back to reality in the worst possible way.

My heart started to sink as I imagined myself forced to dig ditches for the street construction crew, allowed just a few minutes at a time for drinks of water and a slightly longer amount of time for an afternoon meal while the rest of my time would have to be spent in the scorching sunshine.

Next, I imagined standing knee-deep in what seemed like an _endless_ river of mud, slime, and other waste products flowing through the sewers, given nothing but a head-lamp for light like a miner as I had to examine the massive pipes around me for any signs of decay or disrepair.

And third, there was the most terrifying image of them all—me having to work construction directly on whatever new city building was slated to rise, which would mean standing on narrow steel beams thousands of feet above the ground and doing my best not to look down. Just the thought of that alone was enough to get me breathing faster, the first sign of my next panic attack.

"Pete? Pete, are you okay?"

"I don't want to, I don't _want_ to..."

"_Pete_! Look at me, all right?"

My eyes must have frozen shut, because whoever it was that spoke next—Georgina or Greg, because I couldn't tell—caused me to snap them open again. Already I felt cold, like there was ice water about to pump through my veins, and I could feel my heart pounding while my lungs struggled to take in air. It almost felt like I was suffocating from the weight of my own terror...but luckily, neither of the two others nearby would stand back and let that happen.

"No, no, I said _look_...there. That's it..."

There must have been something behind being made to look at my new companions, because there was something in both of their faces that helped me start breathing a bit slower. I felt myself coming back to that room and nowhere near focusing on that forbidden high place. Perhaps that was for the better, because then I felt my heart start to slow down as well.

"What did you _see_?" Georgina had asked me repeatedly, although I was unable to pay her any attention until the third time she'd brought it up. "What was it that frightened you?"

Would it be better for me to be truthful, or was she the type that preferred malchicks who could push away their own fears with a laugh and a wave of their hands...?

"The Job Office," I'd blurted out before giving myself a few minutes to think it over. "Do they really just drop you _anywhere_?"

It seemed to be her turn to blanch next, because then she looked even more worried about me as she began to explain herself.

"Oh, no no _no_! I'm so sorry I made you think that! I should have said they match your skills to whichever employer needs them the most..."

"Skills...?"

"Oh, yes. They're sure to take a careful look at what you're able to do and not do, and...well, they go from there."

Did this mean I _wouldn't_ have to build skyscrapers and stand a thousand feet above the ground? Maybe I could stop worrying about these bad scenarios at last, if either Georgina or Greg could speak about something different from experience.

"Really?" Not wanting to ruin the conversation, I decided to press a little further. "How did they place you?"

Gigi kept quiet on purpose then, reaching a hand between me and the pillow in order to start rubbing my back. I must not have stopped breathing too quickly for her to intervene like that. It wasn't until we were both sure that I wouldn't panic again that she chose to finally answer my question.

"It's a little easier than it sounds, really. As soon as I was done with public school, I went off to learn how to use a computer...figure out a bunch of software programs...that sort of thing."

I could easily see her becoming a whiz at computers and technology and everything else tech-related. The book she'd received from Greg for Christmas had already given this fact away, if not strongly hinted at it due to the printing block design on the front cover. For all I knew, she'd already figured out everything from home row to arranging entire articles with the click of a few buttons.

"Okay, so..." I had to cough a few times more into the safety of my inner arm, because there was no way I wanted to infect the people around me no matter how little I knew about them.

"...So, you studied a few extra courses, and then they sent your name and skills list out so someone would hire you? Is that really what the Job Office does?"

"Pretty much," Georgina said with a shrug. "It's truly not all that hard."

"Do you think I'll have to go back to class for my job, too?"

"Probably not...that is, unless you absolutely _need_ to. I don't think they'd make you learn anything you wouldn't be able to use later on in life."

_Except for a bunch of propaganda and mandatory community service, _I wanted to say out loud, but I wasn't really sure just who else might be listening to our conversation...so for the sake of keeping up appearances, I decided to keep that bit of information to myself. What I could do, and do freely, was feel grateful that I had at least one person to help me, let alone two...and to prove it, I decided to ask Greg just a few more questions, if only to get his side of the story and therefore some more information for my case.

"Oh, it took me a lot longer before I entered the workforce," Greg explained to me, when I'd asked him if he'd started work the exact same way Georgina did. "As soon as I expressed an interest to become a doctor, I had to spend the next five years after public school taking all sorts of medical courses, and I had to study night and day just to scrape through with passing marks."

"Five years?" I had a feeling he was a smart one, too. "You must have been a genius to get finished that quickly!"

"Hold your applause," he said with a smirk. "My education was just half the battle. I'm working in the hospital now because they agreed to hire me on as an intern. I think it's going to be at least another month before I finish my fifth year there, and finally earn my title of Ph. D."

"Ten years...?"

I admit, I had to do a double-take right then and there, because I had very nearly sworn before that Greg and I were the same age. After hearing this malenky sound bite, now I wasn't so sure.

"Does—does that mean you're twenty-eight?"

I received only another smirk and a small shake of his head in reply.

"Twenty-_nine_...?"

This time, I saw a slight nod on Greg's part, which shocked me so hard that I had to rub at my eyes to make it go away. To be honest, he hadn't looked that much older than me, maybe only a few months' difference at the most. But ten years my senior? Was that even possible without getting crow's feet and laugh lines?

"What do you want with someone like me, if you're really _that_ much older?" I pressed, wishing I could get up and look him straight in the eyes to tell whether or not he was lying.

"Or the rest of us? Are you-"

The idea popped into my head so fast, there was no way to block it out as funny as it sounded.

"-_Are you running a special school for people with mysterious talents_?" I said in a stage whisper, which only succeeded in a third smirk from Greg and a skeptical laugh from Georgina.

"Good heavens, no! You read too much comics, Mr. Clancy," Greg laughed, standing up from his place and slipping an arm around my shoulders. "But don't worry, there's nothing all that secretive going on here. It's all a simple matter of-"

Whatever word he'd meant to say, whatever memorable quote he'd hoped to end with and so quiet my mind for a while, was soon interrupted by three loud beeping sounds from his watch. Did this mean we would have to save the rest of our little chat for a later date, and therefore keep me guessing for however long he and Georgina saw fit?

"Ack, I very _nearly_ forgot! Eight-thirty, lady and gentleman. That gives us only thirty more minutes to get ourselves to our respective offices."

There was a sorrowful look on his face as he said this; something that I started to doubt once again as to whether or not it was genuine. I knew that there were still a great many things I had yet to learn about my semi-host, the most important of these undoubtedly being why he chose to be around Nadsats and not the slightly older crowd that I thought he would have been more used to.

"Does this mean you'll have to leave again?"

"I'm afraid so, Pete...but we'll try to be back here tomorrow morning. Hopefully we'll get John and Matthew to come along for the ride, eh?"

I also knew that there were a lot of things I had yet to learn about my semi-hostess, which involved a much longer, more interesting list than the one I would make up for Greg in the safety of my mind. I already knew that she used some kind of computer skill as part of her job, that she was secure in her own thoughts, and probably most importantly that she had a soft spot for injured, sickly wanderers.

"I hope so, too. It's a bit more interesting when they show up."

What I wanted to know about her was everything else, like...maybe her favorite color, what types of music she liked to listen to, her favorite songs, what she loved to eat above all other things, and...basically whatever else set her apart from the rest of the world. I would have loved for her to stay here with me all morning long so that I could get started on learning these things; yet she had her job, and I still had to rest my voice and get well, never mind the rest of me. Still, life didn't fail to send a stabbing pain through me as I had to watch them disappear for the rest of the day.

"Tomorrow," Georgina promised me with a smile and a wave of her hand, quietly slipping off after Greg into the hallway and leaving me to the silence of my room.

"Tomorrow's _late_," I whispered to the empty air, taking that extra pillow out from behind my back and holding it against me in an effort to comfort myself. It was as good as official, now that I'd seen her continuously for the past few days. I was _**attached**_.


	14. Chapter 14

**14**

How blissful it was for me to sleep in for once; for two nights; for three, four, and five; and not have my mind set on whatever happened after sundown any longer. How sweet it was to look forward to the peaceful evening visits of nonviolent friends, and not wait by the door for the arrival of pint-size dystopian soldiers who foamed at the mouth for mischief. That world remained in a place far beyond the hospital doors and far beyond the reach of my new friends, carefully locked away where I wouldn't have to think about it or look at it. In its place, however, I had to slowly make myself sink into a steady, but somewhat boring routine.

My mornings began at seven o'clock sharp, because that was when the morning shift nurse would wake me up, help me into a wheelchair, and take me down the hall to see if I'd gained any weight over the previous day. If she'd noticed any change on the scale, she'd jot it down on some clipboard; nod to herself in approval; and then send it off to some office person so that they could update my medical chart. If not, I would just receive a small pat on the back, followed by the acknowledgment that I could "do better next time." In either case, I would then have my blood pressure checked, my respiration measured, and from there return to my room where they would serve me my first meal of the day. I would then alternate from rest periods to finding a few good programs to watch on the hospital's television set until noon rolled around, which meant that the next orderly to arrive would also bring my lunch along with them.

Once they'd coaxed me to finish as much as I could possibly swallow, my next stop would be the activity room, a place created on purpose to give patients a sense of being at home rather than in a sterile holding cell surrounded by strangers. At least, its four blue walls and white-curtained windows did the trick for the patients around me, because they felt like talking and socializing all in one corner by themselves. As for me, I would just sit alone as I'd always done, reading my books or playing my Solitaire because it wasn't them I wanted to make friends with. That particular group waited for me until right after dinner, because that was the time reserved for visitors as most of them couldn't come in until after quitting time anyway.

In the meantime, I would have to keep my mind sharp while I was waiting for my body to get back into perfect working condition, and for that there was that little book on how to draw one's own comics, a special present from none other than my own dearest Em. I felt a little glad that she'd remembered those drawings I had made from my adolescence onward, mainly because I'd forgotten several of them on my own but also because I'd once thought her too busy to ever pay attention. There had also been that dark period that only I could claim to be guilty of, that moment in time where I'd gone about like some rusty robotic creature and lived up to my programming, like...dusting and sweeping up after someone that hadn't lived with me for months...even years, if a person wanted to get technical. I hadn't bothered to sketch a single letter or draw a single line during that time, because to me, what would have been the point?

Things were a little different for me now, though, and they would go on being different to my benefit, I hoped. I could tell that my old interests were returning to me one by one, those little things I had done long before I'd met that gang in white or that other gang with the iron crosses. This included the comic strips, because on one winter's day when I'd gotten bored of the activity room and asked to be taken back to my hospital bed, I finally started to work on something new.

My first sketch in years was one big nothing at first, a pile of pencil lines that lead nowhere, odd shapes with no name or purpose, lost and wandering around from here to there as surely as I myself had wandered. I had to crumple that one up and throw it away, because I neither felt any attachment to it nor noticed any stories rising out of its directionless outlines. It was my second sketch that started to hold some promise for me, as I soon found myself creating a landscape from another world out o0f a certain arrangement of hills, rocks, and a few scrubby trees. This could definitely serve as the background for the opening page, I reasoned, because I'd always wanted to do something from science fiction, or else something that had to do with life on other planets. This one I redrew just one more time, darkening every outline on purpose so that I could add ink as a finishing touch and so erase all the pencil lines later on.

Once that step had been completed, I started to work on more of the same background sketching until, unexpectedly, there seemed to be two oddly-shaped pathways emerging from the soil; a double stone walkway that very nearly resembled pools of water or wet footprints. I had to stop for a few minutes and think this surprise design over, since I didn't quite yet know if this should have been a rocky path, rain-filled tracks, or just a series of puddles that had formed in the mud over the course of a particularly violent rainstorm. It wasn't until I had stared down at the paper for about three minutes that I realized the truth of it—these oddly-shaped spots were not stones or water at all. They were being left behind by a character trying to carry the dead body of someone they cared about home to their family, and the spots were their friend's blood stains right before they themselves walked through them, essentially turning them into blood-filled tracks.

I tried not to let Georgina or the others see these drawings when they came to visit me after dinnertime, but Em drew attention to them right away just by pointing straight at them, and then tilting her head to one side as though to ask the questions about them herself. With so much interest in my work so soon, I didn't have any other choice but to answer.

"It's just something new," I said vaguely, because I was still working out all the little details in my head and until I was sure about them, the pages wouldn't have any sentimental value to me.

"Someone's best friend just died."

Only Em looked sad after seeing my words signed out to her. She was the only one who knew the real reason for my nightly wanderings. Everyone else just stared at me out of pure curiosity and tried to fill in the blanks on their own.

"Whose best friend?" Georgina asked me, drawing closer to my bedside.

Mine, I wanted to tell her, but it would have raised too many questions in too short a time. Instead, I made myself look a little confused right before I asked her, "I...beg your pardon?"

"Whose best friend is the dead man? Is he rich or poor? Old or young? Doctor or soldier?"

"Oh." How I wished I could come up with better answers for Gigi, or else ones that had more than just one word to them.

"I, um...I haven't thought that far ahead. It's all just a blur so far."

They would be more than just a little disappointed in me now, because they had expected the massive, filling treat of a new story and instead I had nothing to offer them but a few crumbs of information. Yet another loss I could chalk up to being sick...or so I had originally feared. I'd watched each of their faces in turn, expecting to see some degree of disapproval only to realize there wasn't any. Greg and John looked as though they had saved the story idea in the backs of their minds, and would then keep any further questions about it to themselves until they knew I was ready to answer them. Georgina just smiled and patted my arm as though to show me that my imaginary problem was really one big nothing. Even Matthew seemed just the slightest bit interested, although that could have also been the sight of Gigi touching me to make him pay so much attention in the first place. Still, over the course of my days in that hospital bed, planning out this graphic novel would end up as my escape from my own misery.

Oh, there would be other distractions as well, don't get me wrong. In fact, it wasn't long before I received a letter telling me all about how I'd been officially placed at the State Marine Insurance building, effective immediately after my release from the hospital. I would receive a round of handshakes from the other men around me, and hugs from Em and Georgina besides. I would also receive visits from Em all by herself on the nights that my new friends left alone on purpose, because they knew how much we needed them. That, in turn, would mean voiceless conversations in front of my room's television set; lullabies played with the twist of a music box key; the silent sharing of chapters from books that contained loads of photos; little packets of menthol and eucalyptus smuggled in to use in my bath water; and as always, that old familiar scent of lavender that could remind me of home and promise my return to it the moment I breathed it in.

The more Em visited, sometimes the stronger the pull for home came that I very nearly grew dizzy and fainted from the force of it all. I barely rescued myself in time from the weight of this need taking me over, but still, I did indeed rescue myself. I reminded myself that with each day gone, that would also be one less day remaining between me and my wonderful return back to that old flat. And, so that I would neither lose track of this new idea for my comic nor allow myself to fall into another muse-less period of nothingness, one day I asked for a pad of paper and a few pens in order to begin putting down notes for later use.

I thought that I would have a few general ideas at the most, just the bare bones of something I could easily add meat to once I'd been discharged. What I came up with instead were the bones, muscles, heart, and just about everything in between for this story that had been waiting to happen. My central character wasn't going to be some average man fighting in a war where he ends up losing his best friend. Instead, perhaps he could be some younger Prince never expected to lead, inherit, or go on any exciting adventures. A second son who stayed out of his older brother's way on purpose, only to see him die during some horrible battle...and then get pulled into the spotlight that he wasn't entirely sure he wanted.

In a way, some of the very old history of this island dealt with similar things—the older brother might not have originally died, but he still had to give his crown away to whomever was next in line, because giving up his title to marry a commoner woman meant he could never take it back. What better way to remember this particular King than to base my words upon him? I made about three or four bullet points about this on my notepad's first page, a good start for something I hoped to see through to the end. It wouldn't be enough for whatever tale I wanted to tell, unfortunately. For there to be a decent hero in this, there would also have to be an equally disturbing villain. There might even need to be some kind of love interest for my hero, since it would probably be inevitable for a future King to need a Queen to keep him company. His new line of work would only do so much for his self-esteem. The only question was, how would I go about making them?

I had to mull this one over for about five minutes before the answer finally came to me. What if the love interest and the villain were somehow connected to each other? Moreover, what if the hero once viewed his elder brother as someone he'd always looked up to and wanted to be like, only to learn after his death that he'd done a lot more harm tan good to the kingdom he would have someday ruled? It didn't take me very long to figure out some of the necessary details. The woman would have been the Princess from an enemy kingdom on a planet completely different from the hero's, maybe one covered entirely by desert where his own could have been green and lush. In turn, the villain would then have to be her older brother, who had resorted to killing the first Crown Prince in order to save her from all sorts of abuse at his hands.

The second Prince would deny this at first, because any good family member would when faced with shocking information about someone they loved. However, the longer this Prince character would end up thinking things over—and he _would_, because the thought of his older brother causing all sorts of trouble wouldn't go away so easily—he would slowly come to accept it as the truth. He wasn't the first person to ever get disappointed by somebody else, and he definitely wouldn't be the last. I knew that would happen because I'd seen it happen.

_**And I'm up while the dawn is breaking, even though my heart is aching...**_

I hadn't heard this particular song in years, ages maybe—yet there it was, loud and clear through the crack in my door. Some nurse or orderly must have left their radio on. They must have also known exactly what it would do to me, because in an instant, my mind had jumped backwards about two years in time.

_**...I should be drinking a toast to absent friends, instead of these comedians...**_

It played the morning after _he_ finally found a way to make me break a promise I'd made to myself and all the devotchkas some four years ago or so. I'd _never_ wanted to take some girl or woman against her will, because I'd seen in the films how good everything could be if she was just given the chance to say 'yes'. How, indeed, could I ever forget the way my one and only idol attracted them in droves; able to leave them shrieking and fainting in the aisles with no more than a smile and a song?

The King would have waited for the proper invitation, because in doing so, he would receive the chance to be with the girl of his dreams every single time no matter which film it happened in. No little lady would _ever_ refuse him, because really there was no wicked secret in his past or any dark part to his personality that would have given her a list of good reasons to do so. According to all that I'd seen about him, he was just about perfect, and he made me want to be just as adored, just as well-liked, just as special as the ladies in all these films knew him to be.

Only...only there were some lewdies on this island, lewdies like Alex, who didn't like their shaika members having these thoughts in their heads. Malchicks like him would wait for weeks, months, years on end until finally, they would get the chance to make someone like me break their promises to themselves and do just the opposite of what they had once vowed. He must have _loved_ the minute I came in on him beating Mr. Alexander, that piece of cake in my one hand and that mug of cold beer in the other. I hadn't expected to get hungry at all during that time, but there it was, and so I saw no other way to fight it then to visit the family's refrigerator and hope for the best.

Like some modern version of forbidden fruit or a twisted take on Holy Communion, there was that slice of cake wrapped up for later and that frosted mug of beer, still very fresh and so delightfully cold that there was no way for me to refuse. I thought I could take both of those things upstairs with me and enjoy them without the others knowing. The moment I came back into that room and saw two of my not-so-friendly shaika members preparing to harm the Mrs., though...that was enough to make me choke on that second or third bite, and then he had to go and look at me with that deadly glare that could and _would_ only ever mean one thing. I'd gone against his order to check the rest of the house for all the money and valuables. And if I couldn't handle a normal order...

"_**Drop that mounch. I gave no permission."**_

...Then I'd have to deal with a twisted, nasty one instead.

"_**Time for that other veshch, Pete, and Bog help you if you don't finish."**_

_

**A/N: Yes, I know this is extremely unorthodox, but there was this part of me that wondered what would happen if I left in a piece of dialogue from the novel and altered it a little to flow better with the movie. One day I mulled this over, and lo and behold, the idea of Alex twisting Pete's arm into participating in a rape session as punishment for finding snacks instead of treasure moved into my head and refused to go away. Not only that, but I guess I am truly fed up with the idea that attractive guys are somehow saints on earth, and that the women involved with them have to cater to their every need even when they start breaking that woman's bones, spirit, mind, and so on. Some of the Alex romances have gone into this territory, and I really don't think I like that any more, so...I hope nobody on this website thinks that's supposed to be what a real romance is supposed to look like, because you're putting yourself in danger of an early grave and traumatizing your family for decades after the fact if you do. No matter what certain authors of certain novels that shall remain nameless tell you...****if he beats, he isn't sweet. Guess that's all of my two cents.**

**ps—The song 'These Comedians' was what I listened to when the idea for 'Don't' first popped into my head, which...ended up spawning a line of Pete fanfictions, as you can see. Hope this song continues to inspire me for some time yet.**

**pps—This just might be the first of two halves of my latest update, because I finally realized just in time that breaking it into two chapters would be a better idea than just one. Hope I had the right idea in doing this.**

**=Weasley=**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Here is the second half of my chapter that originally would have been 5 pages long, until some recent ideas came into my head and made it even more complex. Hope you like.**

**P.S.: In response to a comment by LetItBeXO...yes, it's true that Pete looks to be the sane one, but ah...one thing I noticed in at least two Kubrick films is that a certain character will be known to snap (become a killing machine) if he is put into enough hellish circumstances. Take a good look at poor Jack and Leonard, who followed their own madness straight to the grave. **

**It's that whole mindset, that thing that also happens in real life, that a person can become the opposite of their original nature if they are thrown into enough chaos. Take the case of Patty Hearst, or, more recently, the 'boys next door' who tortured Muslim detainees in wartime. Because this Dystopia is no doubt chaotic to begin with, and can only be whitewashed for so long under the paint of romance...I figured it was only a matter of time before Alex twisted Pete's arm just enough to get him to do the unthinkable. Further reason for me to NEVER let another girl be sacrificed through handing her over to Alex and letting him do whatever he wants to her, because let's face it, it's not going to be pretty.**

**P.P.S.: This has got a few Ahab of Dystopia spoilers, so ah...hopefully I won't reveal too much about the upcoming storyline for that long-term tale. Maybe just a few things, though. ;) Peace out,**

**Me**

**15**

I wanted so badly to vanish right then and there. I wanted to find some hole to climb through and escape that hellish mess, or for the better, pretend to take that poor wife and _then_ find that her round chair was actually some way to teleport into a hospital or police station or some other safe place for us both. Most of all, I wanted to turn my eyes away and feel nothing about what came next...but unfortunately, that offending part of my body jumped at the sight of her without a stitch of clothing on.

And not only this, but that strange, sharp coldness of Alex's razor pressed against the back of my neck, promising me instant pain and bleeding if I continued to rebel. With my own body betraying me and another promised betrayal waiting to strike from behind, there was no other way for me but to submit to my own urges by forcing her to submit to me. Right or wrong, the message from Alex was the same one he gave to all of his other victims, past, present, and future.

"_**If you try to fight back against me in any way, I'll do just a bit worse than plain punish you. I'll punish you with whatever or whomever you hold dearest to your heart**_."

He punished that lonely woman in the mansion, hoarder though she might have been, by slaughtering her with that sexual sculpture. He punished that old writer by forcing him to watch as he raped his poor wife, and then made sure all of his shaika members did the same. He punished the wife by spying on her, finding out what her favorite song was, and then serenading her with it as he helped rape her to death. And last but not least, he used my own body against me as punishment for straying from his commands.

No gestures of kindness or pleas for mercy would stop him from indulging his sickly passions, as I would have to find out for myself many months down the road. That just wasn't the way to end such a mindset, because it was almost like appeasement rather than self-defense or rescue. However, that didn't mean that there weren't other ways, _better_ ways, to fight such a horror and come out on top. I would find this out sometime soon, and my learning would begin the moment all of my new companions, Matthew included, came one afternoon to sit down and watch a little television with me.

It was about halfway through my time in the hospital, when a light icy rain had fallen and wrapped just about every still living thing and inanimate object up inside of it. I had gained just a few stones of weight back, but it was still a gain, and so my Em saw fit to share the news on her notepad the moment we saw them again. A few minutes later, on came a program that made John furrow his brow in curiosity, caused Georgina to start breathing faster than normal, and somehow got both Greg and Matthew to glance knowingly at each other while I wondered what the deal was. According to the news ticker, some man named Chris Grayson had just hung himself from a prison cell ceiling.

I couldn't get myself to go to sleep again, not even to kill some time between now and when someone came to make sure I'd turned all of my lights out. The looks on everyone's faces had suggested far too much for that. Greg and Matthew had to know something I didn't, because they'd shared too strong of a look wen they thought I hadn't been watching. Georgina looked nothing short of upset and triumphant at the same time, which made me wonder if she'd known this Greyson in some way before. I wasn't sure whether or not I should have brought the subject up in front of Em and John, though. It seemed like it could be a very private thing between these three people, and maybe even a dangerous thing considering none of them looked even the slightest bit sad over this man's suicide.

Had there been some dark force at work in their lives once upon a time, as surely as Alex had amused himself in playing around with mine, Dim's, and Georgie's? Some part of me never wanted to find out the answer to this question, because there was always the chance it could be too terrifying, even for someone like me. Instead, the phantom swishing sound of a chain echoed once more in my mind. A somewhat welcome distraction it was, at least until it woke up another horde of inner demons and made them dance wickedly about. There were some times that I had no idea which was worse—one 'friend' forcing me onto an innocent woman, or another driving me away from him by hitting me square in the face.

It might have been a little more than six months since Dim had turned against me just like that, but my face could still sting as painfully as it had the night we finally parted ways. It wasn't long before I found out he could make me sting everywhere else, too. The next program I watched with my new friends was the Saturday afternoon news, and on this day, the woman in her signature red sweater promised a special interview with a handful of the police academy's newest recruits to 'illustrate the increase in officers on the street', or however the State wanted to spin it for the rest of us. All I could think about was how lucky I'd been to get off the street ahead of time, or else I would have met those officers in a rather unpleasant manner.

"Finally, some _good_ news..."

Anyways, this program started out harmlessly enough, and with a few sympathetic people I could get used to, maybe. I first saw and heard about somebody named Robert Walker, and how by the look of him I thought he could have been related to this devotchka who ran away shortly after we caught Billyboy with his rookers all over her. That wasn't brought up directly, though, and probably for good reason, as he might not have been able to say anything at all than how much he would have liked to see his sister's attacker burned alive. Instead, Miss Red Sweater brought up such things as him studying hard every night and the like, to which Robert agreed to before adding that his big sister's near-rape was what got him into the Academy and not the school of medicines as he'd originally planned. If I'd ever had a sister whom someone else attacked, I might have done the exact same thing.

"I mean, _seriously_ now. Everyone else is going on about reinstating this arts program or bringing back that sort of corporeal punishment as some way to make all the young people change their minds about committing crimes," that Robert said on live camera. "As far as _I'm_ concerned, the real problem is all of these costumed gangs being allowed to run amok. Their parents won't ground them because they're too busy trying to be their friends, they don't send them off to boot camp because they don't want them to suffer, and whatever they do one night ends up in the newspapers and on the television the next morning. We're just rewarding them for their wickedness and making them instant celebrities. Maybe it's time we catch them in the act, and give them all a beating instead, eh?"

The live studio audience must have loved that idea, because then I heard a somewhat loud round of applause for that Robert Walker. That, in turn, just egged him on a bit more, because next he said,

"How about we let _them_ know what it feels like for once?"

_I already know what it feels like_, my mind whimpered, even as he showed his appreciation for their support and gave them all a good wave before going backstage. I'd received nothing but rejection and loneliness in the end, a very ironic way to go as I'd originally become ultraviolent so that the other kids at skolliwoll would stop bullying me. If I'd wanted to be left alone from the start, I'd pretty much gotten exactly what I'd asked for, at least up until a few days ago. Someone up above had seen fit to release me from such a punishment at long last, and so I would have to remind myself to be grateful. Any other choice, and I could have easily become whichever criminal this Walker boy went after first.

"_He's_ got the right idea about it," I heard Matthew mutter to Greg, almost as though they might have talked about something similar earlier and this weighed in as his next argument.

"Look before you leap, _boyo_," John answered casually, though not without a telltale wink in my direction that nobody else seemed to notice.

That interview was just the beginning, though. They would bring in quite a few speakers next, be they normal Academy graduates, new students at that particular school, and even one or two rough-looking malchicks who looked as though they had been busting open heads only yesterday. My little group heard tales of struggling with final examinations, trying to follow in a parent's footsteps, or just plain getting pulled from a crowd of detention center inmates and then pushed into classes that they weren't entirely ready for. As different as each new story was from the last, however, I found that I liked them all the same. Even though these were most likely people I would never meet in person, they still gave me hope. They hinted to me that my life might not be entirely over yet, and that it might also not be too late for me to start over, do well, and therefore be happy.

And so, with a small sense of relief creeping into my mind and my next meal to look forward to, I found myself hesitating just a tiny bit over whether or not to change the channel. This was the longest time in a row that I had watched any television at all, and there was a part of me that seriously wondered what plot lines I might have missed, or else what characters I hadn't watched the adventures of lately. What rough-edged dramas were taking shape in the Middle East today? What new intrigues would the State Press announce this week? Had the latest crop of superheroes figured out a way to break into the villain's underground hideout?

"Feeling a little overloaded, Mr. Clancy?"

Greg was always so careful sometimes. Bog in Heaven, but it was enough to bring tears to my eyes. Why did he always have to be so watchful over me all the time...?

"Um..."

I remember feeling a little bored of the interviewing at the time, but there was also this conflicting part of me that practically _demanded_ to see just a few more before moving on to bigger and better things. It was the least I could do to get my mind off of this Grayson character, or at least forget about him long enough until Georgina's next visit.

"...Just one or two more little speeches, then we can change the channel, okay?"

"Fair enough."

It wouldn't be the most painful decision I would ever make in my lifetime, but it would definitely bother me for the rest of the week. After some glitzy commercials for laundry soap, gourmet crackers, and champagne in that exact order, the last guest I would let myself see on that broadcast finally materialized.

Ever go through a moment in time where you _want_ to believe you're dreaming it all, but then something happens to wake you up, and then you realize that it's no dream at all no matter how much you _wish_ it to be? My very first instance was in the Alexander home, my second as I turned back to watch Georgie's fall, and my third...well, let's just say I had to blink my glazzies several times over before my gulliver felt clear enough to function. I _didn't_ want to believe it was him in that black uniform, all brushed up and brushed back and sitting straight as a lightning rod in that interview chair...yet once the slight toc-toc-toc of a nurse's low heeled shoes echoed past my door, I was forced to understand everything nice and sparkling clear.

There was Dimitri Ivanov plain as the daylight, him looking this way and that out of mild curiosity as the woman in the red sweater gave him a formal introduction. Thank God she didn't call him by his nickname, or else they might have had to go back to commercials to hide the consequences. Then again...maybe the commercials would have been a bit more interesting than _this_ travesty.

"...So tell me again, Mr. Ivanov...you're the youngest of five, correct?"

"Five kids, mum. Four older girls, and then me."

"You must have had a _devil_ of a time sharing the lavatory!"

The crowd found this to be funny as hell, because they didn't think twice about smecking out loud. Dim's glazzies were as blank as ever, but somehow he managed to let out a tiny laugh of his own. A pity he was the only one left among us who felt like laughing at all.

"But enough from me, now...tell us, how difficult was it for you to pass the final examination?"

_**Hmph**. Look at the way he's fidgeting up there. What's the matter, Ivanov, too hard to come up with a decent lie?_

"Bit hard, see. Okay, a lot harder than I thought. Good thing I had some help along the way, though, I might have—"

The screen went dead with a click of the remote control button. Somebody must have hated this show more than me, because they didn't think twice to end it before they had to listen to some more filth coming out of that backstabber's rot. No, wait. It's _my_ finger on the remote button. I'd gone and ended the whole ordeal on my own terms. I barely had ten seconds to breathe out my surprise before a second sound echoed inside my mind...that of a whistling of a chain before it met its target.

"Pete...?"

Turning off the screen wasn't good enough for me, though. It didn't help to calm me down at all, but only wind me up more than I'd been that first morning at Greg's house. Along comes that swishing sound again, and my breathing speeds up as I fumble for something hidden underneath the pillows.

"Pete, can you hear me?"

_My fault...**my** fault... _

They all try to call out to me, to try and get my attention long enough so that we can talk it all out like normal people...but it's as if they disappear one by one, and the only _real_ sound I hear is that of my own ragged breathing.

Oh, Bog in Heaven, I'm panicking.

I'm panicking long and loudly enough that I barely feel the way somebody pulls something out of my hands before I can use it, that I hardly even notice the ringing of the alarm bell as somebody else strikes it in time.

It's a wonder I can still breathe at all right now, because just about everything else inside this room wants me to believe I'm drowning.

Maybe I should have drowned myself at that marina so long ago.

It would have spared me from facing all the horrors waiting on my horizon.

_I'm **sorry**, Georgie..._

**-My thanks to all still reading and commenting on this story as well as Billyboy's. Sorry that I had to end this chapter so quickly, but the complexities of the human psyche as proven by Judy through Eloise, Lucy, and Bella couldn't be ignored. Yes, Pete will get better by the end of this installment...but of course, he'll have to go through a few twists and turns first. Peace out for now,**

**Weasley-**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** My most humble thanks to all who commented on and favorited 'Hate'...I have to say that I was struggling with this idea for at least an entire year, if not longer. I know how a lot of people believe the original, uncut novel ended on a hopeful note for the title character. Heck, even I was a little tickled that someone so unapologetically despicable might actually have a loving bone in his body after all.

Unfortunately, the more I read said novel, the more I realized that sure, he answered for the beatings in his previous crime sprees, but not once did he have to answer for the rapes. The frantic tears of the ten-year-old girls were swept under the rug, the gang rape of Mrs. Alexander wasn't even mentioned, and so on. I also saw that the so-called romantic part was phrased 'getting a wife' instead of 'attracting a wife', 'caring for a wife', or some other phrase that would have implied treating the woman as an equal rather than a material object, which...pretty much sounded as though Alex expected to trot into some department store, plunk down some cash, and tell the cashier 'One young lady to go, please'.

And not only that, but the loving moment between Pete and Georgina seems to be twisted into something else entirely when Alex tries to imagine the same thing—the ideal woman he tries to envision doesn't hold his hand, or say nice things to him, or even smile at him...but just robotically makes him dinner and hugs him when he gets home. That's it. No mention of if he hugs her back or not, no little side note of calling her 'darling' or 'pookie' or 'angel lurve', just...pretty much ditching her so he can go look at the baby...which of course HAS to be a boy, according to Alex, and subliminally suggests that the girl might be in trouble if she produces a daughter instead. Not exactly the kind of guy I'd want to meet my daughter if, indeed, I end up having any children whatsoever...and definitely NOT the kind of proof I'd want to spit out to show others that I was a different person.

Anyways...before I get too lost in my own ramblings, here's my next chapter of 'Lost and Found' so that I can get back on course, and...I've upped the rating on purpose, since this part talks about cutting and suicide and the like. I didn't originally plan for it to be this dark, but hey...reality is reality.

=Weasley=

**16**

"Suicide Watch".

It's scary how two malenky slovos can mean something so dangerous, especially on this side of the door. I'm being watched around the clock as well as receiving my meals throughout the day...but this time, there aren't any visitors allowed.

It must have been scarier still, however, for my new friends to very nearly see me cut open my wrist.

Still, with all of these scars going from my wrists almost all the way up to my elbows, one more probably wouldn't have hurt me.

I can't remember the last time I felt truly happy, not since I came across that house in the snow. Why can't I remember? Has the moloko burned it out of my head?

_**Shut yourself down, Pete.**_

No demons made me do this. I was the one who etched every line into my flesh one by one. What better way to keep my nozh in order?

I shouldn't have done that in front of them. I should have stopped acting crazy and rejoined the rest of the world.

I just couldn't handle the pain after a while. I had to numb it out somehow. I stopped feeling just about anything once I found the one thing to hurt myself a lot worse.

Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I lost my rasoodock a long time ago...or else maybe I'm about to lose it.

I don't feel anything any more, not since six months ago. All my friends have gone away, and for all I know, my family's not far behind.

_**I wish I could take a walk around my flat one last time.**_

There's no reason for me to have any feelings. People who feel too much are the first to fall. I'm as dead as those statues in the Korova. By rights, I'm as good as dead. Why can't I just man up and force myself to die?

I never succeeded in cutting myself one last time. They took away my razor blade before I had the chance. I must have snuck it into the hospital hidden in one of my sleeves. I did it just the way he taught me, oh _yes_, and the others, too.

I want to see Dad's old picture by the door, and maybe sit under it and read a book or two while I'm there. I could do something really weird, even, and talk to that picture as though it's alive. It would be a lot more fun than going to the cemetery.

Who is 'he', anyway? Is he the beggar or the noble? Does he wonder if I'm still alive or not? Does he even care?

If he really cared, then why on earth did he go on beating us with that damned stick?

_**I said, shut yourself DOWN, Pete, don't make me repeat myself...**_

I want to go home.

* * *

**Sixteen nasty little chapters down...five lovely chapters to go. Are you ready?**


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